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EN
. .
 THE

BOOK OF NATURE.

VOL. III.
 ICA
RL
CE

KE
THE

LONDON :
Printed by A . & R . Spottiswoode,
New - Street-Square.
 THE

BOOK OF NATURE .

BY

JOHN MASON GOOD, M .D . F. R . S. F. R .S. L .

MEM . AM . PHIL . SOC . AND F . L . S . OF PHILADELPHIA .

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. III.

LONDON :
PRINTED FOR
LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, AND GREEN,
PATERNOSTER -ROW .
1826 .
 THE

BOOK OF NATURE .

SERIES III.

LECTURE I.
ON MATERIALISM AND IMMATERIALISM .

It is one part of science, and not the least im

portant, though the lowest and most element
ary, to becomeduly acquainted with the nature
and extent of our ignorance upon whatever
subject we propose to investigate * ; and it is

* “ Our knowledge being so narrow , it will perhaps give

us some light into the present state of our minds ifwe look
a little into the dark side,and take a view of our ignorance,
which , being infinitely greater than our knowledge, may
serve much to the quieting of disputes and improvement of
useful knowledge ; if, discovering how far we have clear
and distinct ideas, we confine our thoughts within the con
templation of those things that are within the reach of our
understanding ; and launch not out into that abyss of dark
ness where we have not eyes to see, nor faculties to per
ceive any thing ; out of a presumption that nothing is
VOL. III.
 ON MATERIALISM

probably for want of a proper attention to this

branch of study that we meet with so many
crude and confident theories upon questions
that the utmost wit or wisdom of man is utterly
incapable of elucidating. The rude uninstructed
peasant, or ignorant pretender, believes that he
understands every thing before him ; the expe
rienced philosopher knows that he understands
nothing. It was so formerly in Greece, and
will be so in every age and country : while the
sophists of Athens asserted their pretensions to
universal knowledge, Socrates, in opposition to
them , was daily affirming that the only thing
he knew to a certainty was his own igno
rance. The shallow Indian sage, as soon as
he had made the important discovery that the
world was supported by an elephant, and the
élephant by a tortoise , felt the most perfect
complacency in the solution he was now pre
pared to give to the question, by what means
is the world supported in empty space ? And
it is justly observed by Mr. Barrow , that the
chief reason why the Chinese are so far behind
Europeans in the fine arts and higher branches
of science, as painting for example, and geome
try, is the consummate vanity they possess,
which induces them to look with contempt upon
the real knowledge of every other nation.

beyond our comprehension . But to be satisfied of the folly

of such a conceit we need not go far." Locke, Hum . Un
derst, IV. iii. $ 22. :
 AND IMMATERIALISM .

The subjects we have thus far chiefly dis

cussed , though others branching out from them
have been glanced at aswell, have related to
the principle and properties of matter, both
under an unorganized and under an organic
modification : and although I have endeavoured
to do myutmost to put you in possession of the
clearest and most valuable factswhich are known
upon these subjects, I am much afraid it is to
little more than to this first and initial branch of
science that any instructions I have given have
been able to conduct you ; for I feel, and have
felt deeply as we have proceeded, that they have
rather had a tendency to teach us how ignorant
we are than how wise ; how little is really known
than how much has been actually discovered .
And if this be the case with respect to our
course of study thus far pursued , I much sus
pect that what is to follow has but little chance
of giving a higher character to our attainments ;
for the subject it proposes to touch upon , the
doctrine of psychology, or the nature and pro
perties of the mind, is the most abstruse and
intractable of all subjects that relate to human
entity , or the great theatre on which human
entity plays its important part ; and , perhaps, so
far as relates to the mere discoveries of man
himself, remains, excepting in a few points,much
the same in the present day as it did two or three
thousand years ago. . . . ..
This subject forms a prominent section of that
extensive branch of science which is generally
B 2
 ON MATERIALISM

known by the name of METAPHYSICS, and whích ,

in modern times, has been unjustifiably separated
by many philosophers from the division of PHY
sics or natural philosophy ; and made a distinct
division in itself. As a part of physics, or na
tural philosophy, it was uniformly arranged by
the Greeks ; as such it occurs in the works of
Aristotle , as such it was regarded by Lord
Bacon , as such we meet with it in Mr. Locke's
correct and comprehensive classification of
science, and as such it hasbeen generally treated
of by the Scottish professors of our own day.
And I may add that it is very much in conse
quence of so unnatural a divorce, that the science
of metaphysics has too often licentiously allied
itself to imagination , and brought forth a mon ,
strous and chimerical progeny .
- The term , though a Greek compound , is not
to be found among the Greek writers. The first
traces of it occur to us in the Physics of Aris
totle, the last fourteen books of which are en
titled in the printed editions, Tūv metà Tà Hurixed ;
“ Of things relating to Physics ; ” but even this
title is generally supposed to have been applied,
not by Aristotle himself, but by one of his com ,
mentators, probably Andronicus, on the transfer
of themanuscripts of Aristole to Rome, upon the
subjugation of Asia by Sylla, in which city this in
valuable treasure, as we had occasion to observe
not long ago, had been deposited as part of the
plunder of the library of Apellicon of Teia. *
. : : * Vol. II. Ser . II. Lect.xi.
 AND IMMATERIALISM .

In taking a general survey of the subject im .

mediately before us, there are three questions
that have chiefly occupied the attention of the
world ; the essence of the mind or soul ; its
durability ; and the means by which it maintains
a relation with the sensible or external world .
Let us devote the present lecture to a consider
ation of the first of these. : ii : "
Is the essence of the human soul material or
immaterial ? The question, at first sight, appears
to be highly important, and to involve nothing
less than a belief or disbelief, not indeed in its
divine origin , but in its divine similitude and
immortality. Yet I may venture to affirm that
there is no question which has been productive
of so little satisfaction , or has laid a foundation
for wider and wilder errors, within the whole
range of metaphysics. : And for this plain and
obvious reason, that we have no distinct idea
of the terms, and no settled premises to :build
upon. * Corruptibility and incorruptibility, in
telligent and unintelligent, organized and inor
ganic , are terms that convey distinct meanings
to the mind , and impart modes of being that
are within the scope of our comprehension : but
materiality and immateriality are equally beyond
our reach . Of the essence of matter we know
nothing ; and altogether as little of many of its
more active qualities ; insomuch that amidst all
the discoveries of the day, it still remains a con
.trovertible 'position whether light, heat, mag .
* Şee Locke on Hum . Unders. chixxiii. book ii.
B 3
 ON MATERIALISM

netism , and electricity, are material substances ,

material properties, or things superadded to
matter and of a higher rank. If they be mat
ter, gravity and ponderability are not essential
properties of matter, though commonly so re
garded. And if they be things superadded to
matter, they are necessarily immaterial; and we
cannot open our eyes without beholding innu
merable instances of material and immaterial
bodies co -existing and acting in harmonious
unison through the entire frame of nature. But
if we know nothing of the essence, and but
little of the qualities, of matter ; of that common
substrate which is diffused around us in every
direction , and constitutes the whole of the visible
world , what can we know of what is immaterial?
of the full meaning of a term that, in its strictest
-sense, comprehends all the rest of the immense
fabric.of actual and possible being, and includes
in its vast circumference every essence and mode
of essence of every other being, as well below
as above the order of matter, and even that of
the Deity himself ? *
... Shall we take the quality of extension as the
line of separation between what is material and
what is immaterial ? This, indeed , is the general
and favourite distinction brought forward in the
present day, but it is a distinction founded on
mere conjecture, and which will by no means
stand the test of enquiry. Is space extended ?
every one admits it to be so. But is space mate
* Stud. of Med. Vol. IV . p . 37. 20 edit.
 AND IMMATERIALISM .

rial? is it body of any kind ? Des Cartes,

indeed , contended that it is body, and a 'material
body, for he denied a vacuum , and asserted
space to be a part of matter itself : but it is
probable that there is not a single espouser of this
opinion in the present day. If then extension
belong equally to matter and to space, it cannot
be contemplated as the peculiar and exclusive
property of the former : and if we allow it to
immaterial space, there is no reason why we
should not allow it to immaterial spirit. If ex
tension appertain not to the mind, or thinking
principle, the latter can have NO PLACE of exist
ence, it can exist NO WHERE, — for WHERE, or
PLACE, is an idea that cannot be separated from
the idea of extension : and hence the meta
physical immaterialists of modern timés freely
admit that the mind has NO PLACE of existence,
that it does exist NO WHERE ; while at the same
time they are compelled to allow that the imma.
terial Creator or universal spirit exists EVERY
WHERE, substantially as well as virtually . ' ...'
Let me not, however, be misunderstood upon
this abstruse and difficult subject. : That the
mind has a DISTINCT NATURE, and is a DISTINCT
REALITY from the body ; that it is gifted with
immortality , endowed with reasoning faculties,
and capacified for a state of separate existence
after the death of the corporeal frame to which
it is attached, are in my opinion propositions
most clearly deducible from revelation, and,
in one or two points, adumbrated by a few
B 4
 ON MATERIALISM

shadowy glimpses of nature. And that it may

be a substance strictly IMMATERIAL and ESSEN
TIALLY DIFFERENT from matter, is both possible
and probable ; and will hereafter, perhaps, when
faith is turned into vision , and conjecture into
fact, be found to be the true and genuine doc
trine upon the subject ; but till this glorious era
arrives, or till, antecedently to it, it be proved ,
which it does not hitherto seem to have been ,
that matter , itself of divine origin , gifted even
at present, under certain modifications, with
instinct and sensation , and destined to become
immortal hereafter, is physically incapable, under
some still more refined and exalted and spiritual
ized modification , of exhibiting the attributes.
of the soul ; of being, under such a constitu
tion, endowed with immortality from the first,
and capacified for existing separately from the
external and grosser forms of the body -
and that it is beyond the power of its own
Creator to render it intelligent, or to give it even
brutal perception, the argumentmust be loose
and inconclusive ; it may plunge us, as it has
plunged thousands before us, into errors, but
can never conduct us to demonstration : it may
lead us, on the one hand , to the proud Brah
minical, or Platonic belief, that the essence of
the soul is the very essence of the Deity , hereby
rendered capable of division, and consequently
a part of the Deity himself ; or, on the other,
to the gloomy regions of modern materialism ,
and to the cheerless doctrine that it dies
19 .
 AND IMMATERIALISM .

and dissolves in one common grave with the

body. *
There seems a strange propensity among man
kind, and it may be traced from a very early
· period of the world , to look upon matter with
contempt. The source of this has never, that I
know of, been pointed out ; but itwill, probably ,
be found to have originated in the old philo .
sophical doctrine we had formerly occasion to
advert to, that “ nothing can spring from or be
decomposed into nothing * ;" and consequently
ATT
that MATTER must have had a necessary and in
dependent existence from all eternity ; and have
been an immutable PRINCIPLE OF EVIL running
coevalwith the immutable PRINCIPLE OF GOOD ;
who, in working upon it, had to contend with all
its essential defects, and has made the best of it
in his power. But the moment we admit that
matter is a creature of the Deity himself ; that
he has produced it, in his essential benevolence,
out of nothing, as an express medium of life
and happiness ; that, in its origin he pro
nounced it, under every modification, to be
VERY GOOD ; that the human body, though com
posed of it,was at that time perfect and incor
ruptible , and will hereafter recover the same
attributes of perfection and incorruptibility when
· * See Locke, Hum ., Underst. book iv. ch . iii. $ 6 . as
also the author's Stud. of Med. Vol. iv. p . 37. 2d Edit.
1825 .
+ In the words of Democritus,Mydèy čx tou pi öytos yiveobui,
pendè čus TÒ Men öv poelpeolãı. Dion. Laert. lib . ix . p .44. .
 10 ON MATERIAL
ISM

it shall again rise up fresh from the grave ,

contempt and despisal must give way to rever
ence and gratitude. Nor less so when , with an
eye of devotional or even scientific feeling, we
look abroad into the natural world under the
present state of things ; and behold in what
an infinite multiplicity of shapes, and forms,
and textures, and modifications, this same de
graded substrate of matter is rendered the
basis of beauty and energy, and vitality and en
joyment; equally striking in the little and in
the great ; in the blade of grass we trample
under foot, and in the glorious sun that rouses it
from its winter-sleep , and re-quickens it into ver
dure and fragrancy ; from the peopled earth to
the peopled heavens ; to the spheres on spheres,
and systems on systems, that above, below , and
all around us, fulfil their harmonious courses,
and from age to age
In mystic dance, not without song, resound
His praise who, out of darkness, called up light.'
Had the real order of nature been attended
to , instead of the loose suggestions of fancy, we
should have heard but little of this controversy ;
for it would have made us too modest to engage
in it : it would have shown us completely our
own ignorance, and the folly of persevering in so
fruitless a chase. Let us then , in as few words
as possible, and in order to excite this modesty,
attempt that which has been too seldom at
tempted heretofore, and see how far the subject
 AND IMMATERIALISM . 11
is unfolded to us in the book of the visible
creation .
It has already appeared to us that matter in
its simplest and rudest state is : universally
possessed of certain active properties, as those of
gravitation and repulsion , which in consequence
of their universality, have been denominated es
sential * : . but it has also appeared to us that
there is an insuperable difficulty in determin
ing whether these properties belong to common
matter intrinsically, or are endowments result
ing from the presence and operation of some
foreign body, the etherial medium of Sir Isaac
Newton, and which , if it exist at all, is probably
a something different from matter , or if material,
different from common, visible, and tangible
matter . .
It has appeared to us next, that common
matter, in peculiar states of modification , is also
possessed of peculiar properties, independently
of the general or essential properties which be
long to the entire mass. t Thus iron and iron
ore give proofs of the possession of that sub
stance or quality which we call magnetic , glass,
amber, and the muscular fibres of animals, give
equal proofs of that substance or quality which
we denominate electric or voltaic ; and all
bodies in a state of activity , of that substance or
quality which is intended by the term caloric.
But what is magnetism ? What is voltaism ?
* Vol. I. Ser. I. Lect. iv . p . 83. 89 .
+ Vol. I. Ser. I. Lect.v. p.97.
12 ON MATERIALISM

What is caloric ? There is not a philosopher in

the world who can answer these questions : we
know almost as little of them as of gravitation ,
and can only trace them by their results. We
can , indeed, collect and concentrate them , in
visible and intangible as they are to our senses ;
and we have hence some reason for believing
them to be distinct substances rather than mere
qualities ; and consequently denominate them
auras. But are these auras material or imma
terial ? Examined by the common properties of
matter, as weight, solidity , impenetrability, they
appear to be the latter ; for they are all equally
destitute of these properties, so far as our ex
periments have extended ; and hence they are
either immaterial substances, or material sub
stances void of the general qualities that belong
to matter in its grosser forms.
Let us ascend to the next step in this wonder
ful and mysterious scale . It appeared from the
remarks offered in a former lecture * , that inde
pendently of that general influence and power
of attraction which every particle . of matter
exerts over every other particle, there are some
bodies which exert a peculiar power over other
bodies, which separate them from their strongest
and most stubborn connections, and as com
pletely run away with them as the fox runs away
with the young chicken . And we here behold
another power introduced , and of a still higher
order ; a power, too, of the most complex
* Vol. I. Ser. I. Lect, v. p. 105.
 AND IMMATERIALISM . 13
variety, and which in different substances ex
hibits every possible diversity of strength.
· Let us take a single example of this curious
phænomenon ,, and let us draw it from facts that
are known to almost every one. The water of
the sea, and of various land-springs, as that at
Epsom for example, is loaded with a certain
portion of sulphuric acid , or oil of vitriol ; thus
impregnated, as it flows over a soil composed
either wholly or in part of the earth called
magnesia ; it evinces a peculiar attraction for
this substance, separates it from the bed on
which it has been quietly reposing , and so
minutely dissolves it, as still to retain its trans
parency. But the attraction of the sulphuric
acid for the magnesia is much less than its at
traction for the fixed alkalis, potash and soda :
and hence, if, to the water thus impregnated,
we add a certain quantity of either of the two
latter substances, the connection between the
acid and the magnesia will immediately cease :
the former will eyince its preference for the
alkali employed ; and the magnesia , no longer
laid hold of by the sulphuric acid , will be pre
cipitated, or in other words, fall by its own
weight to the bottom of the water in the form
of a white powder, and may be easily collected
and dried. And this, in reality, is the usual
mode by which this valuable earth is obtained
in its pure state.
But the, sulphuric acid having thus shown a
stronger attraction for an alkali than for an
14 ON MATERIALISM

earth , is there no substance for which it dis

covers a stronger attraction than for an alkali ?
There are various : it may be sufficient to men
tion caloric or the matter of heat. And hence,
exposed to the action of heat, it soon becomes
volatile, unites itself to the heat, flies off with it
in vapour, and now leaves the alkali behind as
it before left the magnesian earth . Glass-manu
facturers take advantage of this superior attrac
tion of the mineral acids for heat compared
with their attraction for alkalis, and employ,
in their formation of glass, common sea-salt,
which is a combination of an acid and an al
kali ; drive off the former from the latter by the
aid of a very powerful fire, and then obtain a
substance which is absolutely necessary for the
production of this material. . .: :
These curious and altogether inexplicable
properties and preferences we call chemical af
finities and chemical elections : and there are
numerous instances in which the substances,
thus uniting themselves together, evince an order
and regularity of the most wonderful precision,
and which is nowhere exceeded in the develope.
ment of the most delicate organ of animated
nature. And I now particularly allude to the
phænomena of crystallization ; the different
kinds of which , produced by the consolidation
of different substances, uniformly maintain so
exact an arrangement in the peculiar shape of
the minute and central nucleus, or the two or
three elementary particles that first unite into a
 AND IMMATERIALISM . 15

particular figure, and follow up with so much

nicety the same precise and geometrical arrange
ment through every stage of their growth , that
we are able, in all common cases, to distinguish
one kind of crystal from another by its geome
trical figure alone ; and with the same ease and
in the same manner as we distinguish one kind
of animal from another by its general make or
generic structure. The form of these element
ary particles we can no more trace to a certainty
than the bond of their union ; but there is great
reason for believing them to be spheres or
spheriods, as first conjectured by that most acute
and indefatigable philosopher Dr. Hooke, and
since attempted to be explained by Dr. Wollas
ton in a late Bakerian lecture.* i ;
- Such are the most striking powers that occur
to us on a contemplation of the unorganized
world . From unorganized let us ascend to or
ganized nature. And here the first peculiar
property that astonishes us is the principle of
life itself ; that wonderful principle equally
common to plants and animals, which maintains
the individuality , connects organ with organ ,
resists the laws of chemical change or putrefac
tion , which instantly commence their operation
as soon as this agent or endowment ceases; and
which , with the nicest skill and harmony, per
petuates the lineaments of the different kinds
and species through innumerable generations.
It is an agency which exists as completely in
* Phil. Trans. 1813. p .51.
 16 - ON MATERIALISM ,

the seed or the egg as in the mature plant or

animal : for as long as it is present, the seed or
the egg is capable of specific developement and
growth ; but the moment it quits its connection,
they can no more grow than a grain of gun
powder.
• What now is this wonderful principle that so
strikingly separates organized from inorganized
matter ? that, as I have observed on a former
occasion , from the first moment it begins to act
infuses energy into the lifeless clod ; draws forth
form , and order, and individual being from un .
shapen matter, and stamps with organization and
beauty the common dust we tread upon ? * I
have called it an agent or endowment: is it
nothing more than these ? is it a distinct es
sence ? and , if so , is this essence refined, ethe
rialised matter, freed from the more obvious
properties of grosser matter , or is it strictly
immaterial ? It has been said by different phy,
siologists to be oxygene, caloric, the electric
or the galvanic gass ; but all this is mere con
jecture ; and even of several of these powers
we know almost as little as we do of the vital
principle itself, and are incapable of tracing
them in the vegetable system . .
The next curious energy we meet with in
organized nature, and which also equally belongs
to animals and vegetables, is instinct. This I
have defined to be " the operation of the vital
principle, or the principle of organized life by
* Vol. I. Ser. I. Lect. ix. p. 229.
 AND IMMATERIALISM . 17
the exercise of certain natural powers directed
to the present or future good of the individual,
or of its progeny." * But what are these
powers, with which the vital principle is thus
marvellously gifted , and which enables it, under
different circumstances, to avail itself of different
means to produce the same end ? – that directs
plants to sprout forth from the soil, and expand
themselves to the reviving atmosphere ; fishes
to deposit their eggs in the sands ; birds in
nests, of the nicest and most skilful contrivance;
and the wilder quadrupeds to accomplish the
same purpose in lairs or subterraneous caverns ;
that guides the young of every kind to its pro
per food, and , whenever necessary, teaches it
how to suck ? Are these powers also material,
or are they immaterial ? Are they simple proper
ties issuing out of a peculiar modification of
matter, or something superadded to the material
frame?
In the confused language and confused ideas
of various metaphysical hypotheses, and even
of one or two that pretend to great exactness in
these respects, instinct is made a part or faculty
of the mind : and hence we hear of a moral in
stinct. But has the polype, then, or the hydatid
a mind ? Are we to look for a mind in the midst
of sponges, corals, and funguses ? - in thespawn
of frogs, or the seeds of mushrooms? Instinct,
however, the operation of the principle of life,

* Vol. II. Ser. II. Lect.iv.

VOL . III.
 ON MATERIALISM

equally superintending the entire frame, and

every separate part of it, guiding it to its perfect
developement, exciting its peculiar energies,
remedying its occasional evils, and providing for
a future progeny, is equally to be traced in all
of them ? Are instinct, then , and mind the
same thing ? or is the vocabulary of the hypo.
theses I now advert to, and shall have occasion
to examine niore at large hereafter, so meagre
and limited that it is necessary to employ the
same term to express ideas that have no connec
tion with each other , and which cannot, there
fore, be thus expressed without the grossest
confusion ? It is high time to be more accurate,
and to have both determinate words and deter
minate ideas ; and it has been one object of this
course of instruction to define what ought to
be the real distinction between instinct, sensa
tion , and intelligence.
But let us ascend a step higher in the great
scale of life ; let us quit the vegetable for the
animal kingdom . If I take the egg or grain of
a mustard-seed ,and the egg of a silk -worm ,where
is the chemist or physiologist that will point out
to me the diversity of their structure, or unfold
the cause of those different faculties which
they are to evince on future developement and
growth ? At present, so far as they appear to
us, they are equally common matter, actuated
by the same common living principle, directed
to different ends. To give them developement
and mature form , we equally expose them to '
 AND IMMATERIALISM . 19
the operation of the sun and the atmosphere, and ,
in the case of the mustard -seed , of moisture :
and we are not conscious of exposing them to
any thing else ; all which, again , so far as we
are acquainted with them , are nothing butmat
ter in different states of modification . Yet the
animal egg produces a new and a much higher
power, which we denominate sensation , while
the vegetable egg produces nothing of the kind,
What is sensation , and from what quarter has
it been derived ? Is it a mere property, or a dis
tinct essence ? Is it material, or is it immaterial?
This, also , has occasionally been called in
stinct, and been contemplated as of instinctive
energy. With equal confusion it has also been
called or contemplated as a property of mind .
It is neither the one nor the other : it is equally
different from both . We trace, indeed, its im
mediate seat of residence ; for we behold in
the silk -worm a peculiar organ which does not
exist in the mustard-plant, and to which , and
which alone, sensation always attaches itself ;
and to this organ we give the name of a nervous
system . But to become acquainted with the
organ , in which sensation resides, is no more to
becomeacquainted with the essence of sensation
itself, than to know the principle of life because
we know the general figure of the individual
animal or vegetable in which it inheres ; or than
to know what gravitation is because we see the
matter which it actuates.
C 2
 ON MATERIALISM

As simple nerves, or a nervous cord, such

as that of the spinalmarrow , is the proper organ
of sensation or feeling, the gland of a brain ,
from which the nervous cord usually , though
not always, shoots, is the proper organ of in
telligence ; and as I had occasion to observe in
a former study, when lecturing upon the subject
of the senses, the degree of intelligence appears,
in every instance we are acquainted with , to be
proportioned, not, indeed, to the size of the brain
as compared with that of the animal to which
it belongs, as was conjectured by Aristotle, and
has been the general belief almost to the present
day, but as compared with the aggregate bulk
of nerves that issue from it. * The larger the
brain and the less the nerves, the higher and
more comprehensive the intelligence : -the smaller
the brain and the larger the nerves, the duller
and more contracted. In man , of all animals
whatever, the brain is the largest, and thenerves
comparatively with its bulk the smallest : in the
monkey tribes it makes an approach to this pro
portion , but there is still a considerable differ
ence'; in birds a somewhat greater difference ;
in amphibials the brain is very small in propor
tion to the size of the nervous cord ; in fishes it
is a bulb not much larger than the nervous cord
itself ; in insects there is no proper brain what
ever; the nervous cord that runs down the back
originating near the mouth ; sometimes of an

* Vol. I. Ser. I. Lect. xv.

 AND IMMATERJALISM . 21

uniform diameter with the cord itself, and some

times rather larger ; and in infusory and zoo
phytic worms we have no trace either of nerves
or brain .
· In these last, therefore, it is possible, and
indeed probable, as I have already observed, that
there is no sensation : the vital principle, and
the instinctive faculty, which is the operation of
the vital principle, by the exercise of certain
natural powers constantly appertaining to such
principle, alone producing all the phænomena
of life as in plants. In most insects, for the
same reason, it is possible, and indeed . pro
Sama

bable , that though there is sensation , there is

little or no intelligence : the brain , which is the
sole seat or organ of intelligence, being totally
destitute, in most of them , and of very minute
compass in the rest. In fishes we have reason
to apprehend different degrees of intelligence ;
in many amphibials somewhat more ; more still
in birds and quadrupeds, and most of all in man.
But what is intelligence, which is a distinct
principle from sensation, and to which, as in the
case of sensation , a distinctorgan is appropriated ?
An organ, moreover, which , like that of simple
sensation , may be also produced out of an in
sentient egg by the mere application, so far as
we are able to trace the different substances in
nature, of a certain proportion of heat ; for the
egg of the hen , unquestionably insentient when
first laid , becomes equally hatched and endowed
with the organs and properties both of sensation
c3
 ISM
22 RIAL
ON MATE

and intelligence, by the application of a certain

portion of warmth , whether that warmth be de
rived from the body of the hen, of a dung-hill,
an oven , or the sun . But though we know the
órgan , what information does this give us of the
thing itself ? In what respect is intelligence
connected with the brain ? Does it result from
its mere peculiarity of structure, secreted, like
the blood , but of a finer and more attenuate
crasis, or is it a something superadded to the
organ ? Is it matter in its most active , elaborate ,
and etherialised form , or is it something more
than matter of any kind ? and, if so , how has this
superadded essence been communicated ?
To this point we can proceed safely, and see
our way before us : but shadows, clouds, and
darkness rest on all beyond, while the gulf on
which we sail is unfathomable to the pluimet
of mortals.
It is something more than matter, observes
one class of philosophers, for matter itself is
essentially unintelligent, and is utterly incapable
of thought. But this is to speak with more
confidence than we are warranted ; and unbe
comingly to limit the power of the Creator. It
has already appeared that we know nothing of
the essential properties of matter. If it be
capable of gravitation , of elective attractions, of
life, of instinct, of sensation, there does not
seem to be any absurdity in supposing it may
be capable of thought : and if all these powers
or endowments result from something more
 AND IMMATERIALISM . 23
than matter, then is the visible world as much
an immaterial as a material system .
On the other hand, it is as strongly contended by
an opposite classof philosophers,and the sametrain
ofarguments has been continued , almost without
variation, from the daysofEpicurus, that the prin
ciple of thought or the human mind must bemate
rial; for otherwise the frameof man , we are told ,
will be made to consist of two distinct and adverse
essences, possessing no common property or
harmony of action . But this is to speak with as
unbecoming a confidence as in the former case.
The great visible frame of the world seems to
point out to us in every part of it a co -existence
either of different essences or of different na
tures of matter and a something which is not
matter ; or of common matter and matter pos
sessed of properties that it does not discover in
its common form . Yet all these, so far from
being adverse to each other, subsist in the
strictest union, and evince the completest har
mony of action . And hence the soul, or intel
ligent principle , though combined with matter,
though directly operating from a materialorgan ,
may be a something distinct from matter, and
more than matter, even in its most active, ethe
rial, and spiritualised forms : though, whatever
be its actual essence, it undoubtedly makes the
nearest approach to it under such a modifi
cation .
In reality, under some such kind of etherial
or shadowy make, under some such refined or
C 4
 ISM
RIAL
24 ON MATE -

spiritualised and evanescent texture, it seems in

almost all ages and nations to have been handed
down by universal tradition , and contemplated by
the great mass of the people, whatevermay have
been the opinion of the philosophers, as soon
as it has become separated from the body. And
the opinion derives some strength from the man
ner in which it is stated to have been first formed
in the Mosaic records, which intimate it to be a
kind of divine breath, vapour, or aura, or to have
proceeded from such a substance ; for “ God ,"
we are told , “ breathed into man 's nostrils THE
BREATH OF LIFE, (D " nowy) and he became a
living soul." .
Opposed as the two hypotheses of material.
ism and of immaterialism are to each other, in
the sense in which they are commonly under
stood, it is curious to observe how directly and
equally they tend to one common result, with
respect to a point upon which they are conceived
to differ diametrically ; I mean an assimilation
of the human soul to that of brutes.
Thematerialist, who traces the origin of sens
ation and thought from a mere modification of
common matter , refers the perception and re
flection of brutes to the very principle which
produces them in man ; and believing that this
modification is equally, in both instances, de
stroyed by death, maintains that “ as the one
dieth , so dieth the other ; so that a man hath

* Gen . ii. 7.
 AND IMMATERIALISM .

no pre- eminence above a beast * ;" whence his

hope of future existence, apparently like that of
Solomon , who was without the light of the Chris
tian Scriptures, depends exclusively upon a re
surrection of the body. . .
The immaterialist, on the contrary, who con
ceives that mere matter is incapable , under any
modification, of producing sensation and thought,
is under the necessity of supplying to every rank
of being possessing these powers, the existence
of another and of a very different substance
combined with it ; a substance not subject to
the changes and infirmities of matter, and alto.
gether impalpable and incorruptible. For if sen
sation and ideas can only result from such a sub
stance in man , they can only result from such a
substance in brutes ; and hence the levelbetween
the two is equally maintained by both parties ; the
common materialist lowering the man to the
brute, and the immaterialist exalting the brute to
the man. The immaterialist, however, on the
approach of dissolution , finds one difficulty pecu
liar to himself, for he knows not, at that period ,
how to dispose of the brutal soul: he cannot
destroy an incorruptible substance, and yet he
cannot bring himself to a belief that it is im
mortal. This difficulty seems to have been pe
culiarly felt by the very excellent Bishop Butler.
He was too cautious a reasoner, indeed, to enlist
the term IMMATERIAL into any part of his argu.

* Eccles, iïi. 19.

26 ON MATERIALISM

ment ; not pretending to determine, as being a

point of no importance whatever , “ whether our
living substances (those that shall survive the
body ) be material or immaterial :" * but, as a
faculty of intelligence is discernible in brutes
as well as in man , he thought himself compelled
to ascribe it in both to a common principle ; and
believing this principle to be immortal in the
latter, he supposed it also to be immortal in the
former ; and hence speaks of the “ natural im
mortality ofbrutes.” + But as to what becomes of
this natural immortality of the brute creation after
death , he says nothing whatever, and even re
gards the enquiry as “ invidious and weak." I
By some immaterialists, and particularly by
Vitringa and Grotius, it has been conceived
that, as something distinct from matter must be
granted to brutes, to account for their powers of
perception , mankind are in possession of a prin
ciple superadded to this, and which alone con
stitutes their immortal spirit. But such an idea,
while it absurdly supposes everyman to be created
with two immaterial spirits, leaves us as much
as ever in the dark as to the one immaterial, and
consequently incorruptible, soul or principle
possessed by brutes. The insufficiency of the
solution has not only been felt but acknowledged
by other immaterialists ; and nothing can silence
the objection, but to advance boldly, and deny
* Analysis of Religion Natural and Revealed, Part i.
ch . i.
f Id . Part. i. ch. i. p. 30 . Edit. 1802. Id . p. 29 .
 AND IMMATERIALISM . 97
that brutes have a soul or percipient principle
of any kind ; that they have either thought,
perception, or sensation ; and to maintain , in
consequence, that they are mere mechanical
machines, acted upon by external impulsions
alone. Des Cartes was sensible that this is the
only alternative : he, therefore, cut the Gordian
knot, and strenuously contended for such an
hypothesis : and the Abbé Polignac, whọ in
trepidly follows him , gravely devotes almost a
whole book of his anti-Lucretius to an elu
cidation of this doctrine ; maintaining that the
hound has no more will of his own in chasing
the fox than the wires of a harpsichord have in
exciting tones ; and that, as the harpsichord is
mechanically thrown into action by a pressure
of the fingers upon its keys, so the hound is
mechanically urged onwards by a pressure of
the stimulating odour that exhales from thebody
of the fox upon his nostrils. Such are the
fancies which have been invented to explain
what appears to elude all explanation whatever;
and consequently to prove that the hypothesis
SO

itself is unfounded.
Yet the objections that apply to the conjecture
ofmaterialism , as commonly understood and pro
fessed, are still stronger. By the denial of an
intermediate state of being between the death
and the resurrection of the body, it opposes not
only what appears to be the general tenour, but
what is, in various places, the direct declaration
of the Christian Scriptures; and by conceiving the
 28 ON MATERI
ALISM

entire dissolution and dispersion of the percipient

as well as impercipient parts of the animalma
chine, of which all the atoins may become after
wards constituent portions of other intelligent
beings, it renders a resumed individuality almost,
if not altogether, impossible. *
i The idea that the essence or texture of the
soul consists either wholly or in part of spiritual
ized, etherial, gaseous, or radiant matter, capa
ble of combining with the grosser matter of the
body, and of becoming an object of sense, seems
to avoid the difficulties inherent to both systems.
It says to the materialist, matter is not necessa
rily corruptible ; as a believer in the Bible, you
admit that it is not so upon your own principle,
which maintains that the body was incorruptible
when it first issued from the hands of its Maker,
and that it will be incorruptible upon its resur
rection. It says to the immaterialist, the term
immaterial conveys no determinate idea ; it has
been forcibly enlisted into service, and at the
same time by no means answers the purpose that
was intended . It tells him that it is a term not
to be found in the Scriptures, which , so far from
opposing the belief that the soul, spirit, or im
mortal part of man, is either wholly or in com
bination, a system of radiant or etherialmatter,
seem rather, on the contrary, to countenance it,
not only as I have already observed, by expressly

* See the author's Life of Lucretius, prefixed to his

translation of the poem De Rerum Natura , Vol. I. p. 92. ,
 AND IMMATERIALISM . 29

asserting that it was originally formed out of a

divine breath , aura, or vapour,but by presenting
it to us under some such condition in every in
stance in which departed spirits are stated to
have re-appeared .
That a principle of the same kind, though
under a less active and elaborate modification,
appertains to the different tribes of brutes, there
can, I think, be no fair reason to doubt. Yet it
by no means follows that in them it must be
also immortal. Matter, as we have already seen ,
is not necessarily corruptible, nor have we any
reason to suppose, that whatever is immaterial is
necessarily incorruptible. Immortality is in every
instance a special gift of the Creator ; and so
wide is the gulf that exists between the intelli
gence of man and that of the brute tribes, that
there can be no difficulty in conceiving where the
line is drawn , and the special endowinent termi
nates. It is an attribute natural to the being of
man, merely because his indulgent Maker has
made it so ; but there is nothing either in natural
or revealed religion that can lead us to the same
conclusion in respect to brutes , and hence , to
speak of their natural immortality is altogether
visionary and unphilosophical. .
- In reality, the difference between this sug
gested · hypothesis and that of the general
body of immaterialists, is little more than verbal.
For there are few of them who do not conceive
in their hearts (with what logical strictness I stay
not to enquire ) that the soul, in its separate
30 ON MATERIALISM

state, exists under some such shadowy and eva .

nescent form ; and that, if never suffered to
make its appearance in the present day, it has
thus occasionally appeared in earlier ages, and
for particular purposes. Yet what can in this
manner become manifest to material senses,
must have at least some of the attributes of
matter in its texture, otherwise it could produce
no sensible effect or recognition. From what
remote source universal tradition may have de
rived this common idea of disembodied spirits,
I pretend not to ascertain ; the enquiry would ,
nevertheless, be curious, and might be rendered
important: it is a pleasing subject, and embued
with that tender melancholy that peculiarly
befits it for a mind of sensibility and fine taste.
Its universality , independently of the sanction
afforded to it by revealed religion , is no small
presumption of its being founded in fact. But
I throw out the idea rather as a speculation to
be modestly pursued, than as a doctrine to be
precipitately accredited . Enough , and more
than enough has been offered, to show that in
the abstruse subject before us, nothing is so be
coming as humility ; that we have no pole-star
to direct us ; no clue to unriddle the perplexities
of the labyrinth in which we are wandering ;
that every step is doubtful ; and that to expatiate
is perhaps only to lose ourselves. To show this
has beeen my first object ; my second has been
to conciliate discordant opinions, and to connect
popular belief with philosophy.
22
 AND IMMATERIALISM . SI

But I have also aimed at a much higher mark ;

and have followed up the aim through the gene
ral train of reasoning introduced into the pre
ceding divisions of this course of instruction. I
have endeavoured to show that, though every
part of the visible creation is transient and im
perfect, every part is in a state ofprogression , and
striving at something more perfect than itself ;
that the whole unfolds to us a beautiful scale of
ascension , every division harmoniously playing
into every other division , and , with the nicest
adjustment, preparing for its furtherance. The
mineral kingdom lays a foundation for the veget
able, the vegetable for the animal : infancy for
youth, youth for manhood , and manhood for the
wisdom of hoary, hairs. We have hence strong
ground, independently of that furnished us by
revelation, for concluding that the scene will
not end here : that we are but upon the threshold
of a vast and incomprehensible scheme, that
will reach beyond the present world and run
coeval with eternity. The admirable Bishop of
Durham , to whose writings I have already occa
sionally adverted, pursues this argument with
great force in his immortal Analogy, and shows,
with impressive perspicuity, the general coinci
dence of design that runs throughout the natural
and the moral government of Providence, all
equally leading to a future and more perfect
state of things. “ The natural and moral con
stitution and government of the world ,” says
he, “ are so connected as to make up together
32 ON MATERIALISM , & c .

but one scheme; and it is highly probable that

the first is formed and carried on merely in sub
serviency to the latter : as the vegetable is for
the animal, and organised bodies for minds. -
Every act, therefore, of divine justice and good
ness may be supposed to look much beyond itself,
and its immediate object may have some re
ference to other parts of God' s moral adminis
tration and to a genuine moral plan ; and every
circumstance of this his moral government may
be adjusted beforehand, with a view to the whole
of it. - It is hence absurd, absurd to the de.
gree of being ridiculous, if the subject were not
of so serious a kind , for men to think themselves
secure in a vicious life ; or even in that immoral
thoughtlessness, which far the greatest part of
them are fallen into.” *

* Analysis of Religion, Natural and Revealed, Part i.

ch. vii. p . 148 , 149. 165. Edit. 1802.
 . : 33

LECTURE II.

ON THE NATURE AND DURATION OF THE SOUL , AS

EXPLAINED
EX
BY POPULAR TRADITIONS, AND
PLAINED BY POPULA R T UNI
VA
ND . VA

RIOUS PHILOSOPHICAL SPECULATIONS.

We have entered upon a subject in which hu

man wisdom or imagination can afford us but
very little aid ; and I have already observed,
that I have rather touched upon it, in order that,
with suitable modesty , wemay know and acknow
ledge our own weakness, and apply to the only
source from which we can derive any real infor
mation concerning it, than to support any hypo
thesis that can be deduced from either physical
or metaphysical investigations. “ The science
of abstruse learning,” observes Mr. Tucker, and
no man was ever better qualified to give an opi.
nion upon it, “ when completely attained, is
like Achilles's spear, that healed the wounds it
had made before . It casts no additional light
upon the paths of life, but disperses the clouds
with which it had overspread them . It adyances
not the traveller one step in his journey, but
conducts him back again to thespot from whence
he had wandered.” * But if it do not discover

* Light of Nature Pursued , chap.xxxii.

VOL . III.
34 ON THE NATURE AND

new truths, it prepares, or should prepare, the

mind for apprehending those that are already in
existence with a greater facility, and far more
accurately appreciating their value.
In our last lecture we took a glance at several
of the discordant opinions, supported respectively
by men of the deepest learning and research ,
that have been offered in relation to the essence
of the mind or soul; and showed by a scale of
analysis conducted through all the most striking
modifications of that plastic and fugitive sub
stance which composes the whole of the visible
world, that all such discussions must be neces
sarily uncertain , and considerably less likely to
be productive of truth than of error. But there
is a question of far more consequence to us than
the nature of the soul' s essence, and that is, the
nature of its duration. Is the soul immortal ?
Is it capable of a separate existence ? Does it
perish with the body as a part of it ? Or if a dis
tinct principle, does it vanish into nothingness
as soon as the separation takes place ? What
does philosophy offer us upon this subject ?
This too has been studied from age to age ; the
wisest of mankind have tried it in every possible
direction ; new opinions have been started, and
old opinions revived ; -- and what, after all, is
the upshot ? The reply is as humiliating as
in the former case : vanity of vanities, and
nothing more ; utter doubt and indecision, -
hope perpetually neutralized by fear.
 DURATION OF THE SOUL. 35

If we turn to the oldest hypotheses of the East,

to the Vedas of the Bramins and the Zendavesta
of the Parsees, - to those venerable but fanciful
stores of learning, from which many ofthe earliest
Greek schools drew their first draughts of meta
physical science, we shall find indeed a full ac
knowledgement of the immortality of the soul,
but only upon the sublime and mystical doc.
trine of emanation and immanation , as a part of
the great soul of the universe , issuing from it
at birth , and resorbed into it upon the death of
the body , and hence altogether incapable of
individualbeing, or a separate state of existence.
If we turn from Persia, Egypt, and Hindustan
to Arabia , to the fragrant groves and learned
shades of Dedan and Teman , from which it is
certain that Persia , and highly probable that
Hindustan derived its first polite literature , we
shall find the entire subject left in as blank and
barren a silence, as the desarts by which they
are surrounded ; or, if touched upon, only
touched upon to betray doubt; and sometimes
disbelief. The tradition, indeed, of a future
state of retributive justice seems to have reached
the schools of this part of the world , and to have
been generally , though perhaps not universally ,
accredited ; but the future existence it alludes to
is that of a resurrection of the body, and not of
a survival of the soul after the body's dissolution .
The oldest work that has descended to us from
this quarter (and there is little doubt that it is
the oldest, or one of the oldest works in ex
D 2
36 ON THE NATURE AND

istence * ) is that astonishing and transcendant

composition , the book of Job : - a work that
ought assuredly to raise the genius of Idumea
above that ofGreece, and that of itself is demon
strative of the indefatigable spirit with which
the deepest aswell as the most polished sciences
were pursued in this region , during what may
be comparatively called the youth and day
spring of the world . Yet in this sublime and
inagnificent poem , replete with all the learning
and wisdom of the age, the doctrine upon the
subject before us is merely as I have just stated
it, a patriarchal or traditionary belief of a future
state of retributive justice, not by the natural
immortality of the soul, but by a resurrection of
the body. And the samegeneralidea has for the
most part descended in the same country to the
present day ; for the Alcoran, which is perpe
tually appealing to the latter fact, leaves the for
mer almost untouched , and altogether in a state
of indecision, whence the expounders of the
Eslam scriptures, both Sonnites and Motazza
lites, or orthodox and heterodox, are divided
upon the subject, some embracing and others
rejecting it. And it is hence curious to observe
the different grounds appealed to in favour of a
future existence, in the most learned regions of
the east : the Hindu philosophers totally and
universally denying a resurrection of the body,
and supporting the doctrine alone upon the natu
* Vol. II. Ser. II. Lect. x .
 DURATION OF THE SOUL . 37

ral immortality of the soul, and the Arabian

philosophers passing over the immortality of the
soul, and resting it alone upon a resurrection of
the body.
The schools of Greece, as I have already ob
served, derived their earliest metaphysics from
the gymnosophists of India ; and hence, like the
latter, while for the most part they contended
for the immortal and incorruptible nature of the
soul, they in like manner overlooked or repro
bated the doctrine of a resurrection of the body,
On which account, when St. Paul, with an equal
degree of address and eloquence, introduced this
subject into his discourse in the Agora or great
square of Athens, the philosophers that listened
to it carried him to Areopagus, and enquired
what the new doctrine was of which he had been
speaking to the people.
The earliest Greek schools, therefore , having
derived this tenet from an Indian source, believed
it, for the most part, after the Indian manner.
And hence, though they admitted the immortality
of the soul, they had very confused ideas of its
mode of existence ; and the greater number of
them believed it, like the Hindus, to be re
sorbed , after the present life, into the great soul
of the world , or the creative spirit, and con
sequently to have no individualbeing whatsoever.
Such, more especially, was the doctrine of
Orpheus and of the Stoics ; and such , in its ul
timate tendency, that of the Pythagoreans, who,
though they conceived that the soul had , for a
D 3
38 ON THE NATURE AND

certain period, an individual being, sometimes

involved in a cloudy vehicle, and sleeping in the
regions of the dead, and sometimes sent back to
inhabit some other body, either brutal or human ,
conceived also that at length it would return to
the eternal source from which it had issued, and
for ever lose all personal existence in its essen
tial fruition ; à doctrine, under every variety,
derived from the colleges of the East.
I have said that this principle was imported
by the Pythagorists, and the Greek schools in
general, from the philosophy of India. The
slightest dip into the Vedas will be a sufficient
proof of this. Let us take the following splendid
verse as an example , upon which the Vedantis
peculiarly pride themselves, and which they have,
not without reason, denominated the Gayatri, or
most holy verse .
“ Let us adore the supremacy of that divine
sun the Bhargas, or godhead, who illuminates all,
who recreates all, FROM WHOM ALL HAVE PRO
CEEDED, TO WHOM ALL MUST RETURN , whom we
invoke to direct our understandings aright in our
progress towardshis holy seat." *
The doctrine of the later Platonists was pre
cisely of the same kind , and it was very exten .
sively imbibed, with the general principles of the
Platonic theory, by the poets and philosophers
who flourished at the period of the revival of
literature. Lorenzo de Medici is well known to

* Sir Wm . Jones, vi. p .417.

 DURATION OF THE SOUL . 39

have been warmly attached to this sublime mys

ticism ; vet he hasmade it a foundation for some
of the sweetest and most elevated devotional
poetry that the world possesses. His inagnificent
address to the Supreme Being has seldom been
equalled. I cannot quote it before a popular
audience in its original, but I will beg your ac
ceptance of the following imperfect translation
of two of its stanzas, that you may have some
glance into its merit :

Father Supreme! O letme climb .

That sacred seat, and mark sublime
Th ' essential fount of life and love ;
Fount, whence each good, each pleasure flows.
0 , to my view thyself disclose !
The radiant heaven thy presence throws!
O , lose me in the light above.
Flee, flee, ye mists ! let earth depart :
Raise me, and show mewhat thou art,
Great sum and centre of the soul !
To thee each thought, in silence, tends ;
To thee the saint, in prayer, ascends ;
Thou art the source, the guide, the goal ;
The whole is thine, and thou the whole. *

* Concedi, O Padre ! l'alta e sacra sede

Monti la mente, e vegga el vivo fonte,
Fonte ver bene, onde ogni ben procede.
Mostra la luce vera alla mia fronte ,
E poichè conosciuto e 'l tuo bel sole ,
Dell' alma ferma in luiluci pronte.

Fuga le nebbie, e le terrestre mole

Leva damè, e splendi in la tua luce ;
D4
 RE
HO ON THE NATU AND

While such , however, were the philosophical

traditions, the popular tradition appears to have
been of a different kind, and as much more
ancient as it was more extensive. It taught that
the disembodied spirit becomes a ghost as soon
as it is separated from the corporeal frame; a
thin , misty , or aerial form , somewhat larger than
life, with a feeble voice, shadowy limbs ; know
ledge superior to what was possessed while in the
flesh ; capable, under particular circumstances,
of rendering itself visible ; and retaining so much
of its former features as to be recognized upon
its apparition ; in a few instances wandering
about for a certain period of time after death ,
but for the most part conveyed to a common
receptacle situated in the interior of the earth,
and denominated scheol S( W ), hades (cons ),
hell, or the world of shades. . .
Such was the general belief of the multitude
in almost all countries from a very early period
of time; with this difference, that the hades of
various nations was supposed to exist in some
remote situation on the surface of the earth , and
that of others in the clouds. The first of these
modifications of the general tradition is still to
be traced among many of the African tribes, and

Tu se' quel sommo ben che chiascun vuole ;

A tè dolce riposo si conduce, .
E tè come suo fin , vedę ogni pio ;
Tu se ' principio , portatore e duce,
La vita, e 'l termino, Tu sol Magno Dio .
 DURATION OF THE SOUL. 41
perhaps all the aboriginal tribes ofNorth America.
That most excellent man, William Penn , who
appears, with some singularities, to have united
in his character as much moral goodness, natural
eloquence, and legislative wisdom , as ever fell to
the lot of any one, has sufficiently noticed this
fact, in regard to the American tribes, in his
valuable account of the country addressed to
“ The Free Society of Traders of Pennsylvania ,"
drawn up from an extensive and actual survey ,
and constituting, so far as it goes, one of themost
important and authentic documents we possess.
“ These poor people,” says he, “ are under a
dark night in things relating to religion, to be
sure, the tradition of it : yet they believe a God
and immortality without the help ofmetaphysics ;
for they say there is a great king who made them ,
who dwells in a glorious country to the south
ward of them , and that the souls of the good
shall go thither, where they shall live again .” *
And it is upon the faith of this description that
Mr. Pope drew up that admirable and wellknown
picture of the same tradition , that occurs in the
first epistle of his Essay on Man , and is known
to every one.
Lo ! the poor Indian , whose untutor'd mind
Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind :
His soul proud science never taught to stray
Far as the solar walk or milky way ;
Yet simple nature to his hope has given
Beyond the cloud -topt hill, an humbler heaven ;

* Clarkson's Life of Wm . Penn, vol. i. p . 391.

 ON THE NATURE AND

Some safer world in depth of woods embrac'd,

Some happier island in the watry waste ;
Where slaves once more their native land behold ,
No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold .
The tradition which describes the hades, or
invisible world , as seated in the clouds, was
chiefly common to the Celtic tribes, and par
ticularly to that which at an early age peopled
North Britain . It is by far the most refined and
picturesque idea that antiquity has offered upon
the subject, and which has consequently been
productive, not only of the most sublime, but
of the most pathetic descriptions to which the
general tradition has given rise under any form .
The Celtic bards are full of this imagery ; and it
is hence a chief characteristic in the genuine pro
ductionsof Ossian , which, in consequence, assume
a still higher importance as historical records than
as fragments of exquisite poetry . Let me, in
proof of this, quote his fine delineation of the
spirit of Crugal from a passage in the second book
of Fingal, one of his best authenticated poems * ,
premising that the importance of the errand,
which is to warn his friends, “ the sons of green
Erin ,” of impending destruction , and to advise
them to save themselves by retreat, sufficiently
justifies the apparition . “ A dark red stream of

* See Report of the Committee of the Highland Society

of Scotland appointed to inquire into the nature and au
thenticity of the Poems of Ossian , drawn up, according to
the directions of the Committee, by Henry Mackenzie,
Esq. its Convener or Chairman, p. 153. and pp. 190 — 260.
22
 DURATION OF THE SOUL . 43

fire comes down from the hill. Crugal sat upon

the beam : he that lately fell by the hand of
Swaran striving in the battle of heroes. His face
is like the beam of the setting moon : his robes
are of the clouds of the hill : his eyes are like
two decaying flames. Dark is the wound on his
breast. The stars dim -twinkled through his form ;
and his voice was like the sound of a distant
stream . Dim and in tears he stood , and stretched
his pale hand over the hero. Faintly he raised
his feeble voice, like the gale of the reedy Lego.
• My ghost, O Connal ! is on my native hills, but
my corse is on the sands of Ullin . Thou shalt
never talk with Crugal, nor find his lone steps
on the heath . I am light as the blast of Cromla ,
and I move like the shadow of mist. Connal,
son of Colgar ! I see the dark cloud of death .
It hovers over the plains of Lena . The sons of
green Erin shall fall. Remove from the field of
ghosts .' Like the darkened moon , he retired in
the midst of the whistling blast."
Let us take another very brief but very beau
tiful example. « Trenmor came from his hill at
the voice of his mighty son . A cloud, like the
steed of the stranger, supported his airy limbs.
His robe is of the mist of Lano, that brings death
to the people. His sword is a green meteor half
extinguished . His face is without form and dark .
He sighed thrice over the hero ; and thrice the
winds of the night roared around. Many were
his words to Oscar. He slowly vanished , like a
mist that melts on the sunny hill.”
44 ON THE NATURE AND

· The idea of his still pursuing his accustomed

occupation of riding with his glittering sword ,
(its glitter now half extinguished , and of a green
hue,) on the steed of the stranger - a steed won
in battle - his own limbs rendered airy, and the
steed dissolved into the semblance of a cloud -
is not only exquisite as a piece of poetic paint.
ing, but as a fact consonant with the popular
tradition of all other countries, which uniformly
allotted to the shades, or ghosts of their respect
ive heroes, their former passions and inclinations,
the pastimes or employments to which they had
A

devoted themselves while on earth, and the arms

or implements they had chiefly, made use of.
Thus, the Scandinavian bard, Lodbrog , while
singing his own death -song, literally translated
from the Runic into Latin by Olaus Wormius,
and transferring, in like manner , the pursuits of
his life to his pursuits after death : “ In the halls
of our father Balder I know seats are prepared ,
where we shall soon drink all out of the hollow
sculls of our enemies. In the house of the mighty
Odin no brave man laments death . I come not
with the voice of despair to Odin 's hall.” * .
The same popular belief was common to the
Greeks and Romans. Thus, Æneas, according to
Virgil, in his descent to the infernal regions, be .
holds the shades of the Trojan heroes still panting
for fame, and amusing themselves with the martial
exercises to which they had been accustomed ,
* See Blair's Dissertation on Ossian .
 DURATION OF THE SOUL. 45

and with airy semblances of horses, arms, and

chariots :

The chief surveyed fullmany a shadowy car,

Illusive arms, and coursers train 'd for war.
Their lances fix 'd in earth , their steeds around,
Now free from harness, graze the mimic ground .
The love of horses which they had, alive,
And care of chariots, after death survive. *

Virgil, while true to the tradition of his country,

is well known to have copied his description from
Homer ; and in Homer's time the same popular
tradition was common to the Jews, and runs
through almost all their poetry . It is thus Isaiah ,
who was nearly contemporary with Homer, sa
tirizes the fall of Belshazzar, ch . xiv. 9.
The lowermost Hell is in motion for thee,
To congratulate thy arrival :
For thee arouseth he the MIGHTY DEAD ,
All the chieftains of the earth .

The term MIGHTY DEAD is peculiarly em

phatic. The Hebrew word is '807 (Rephaim ,)
the “ gigantic spectres,” “ the magnified and
mighty ghosts ;" exhibiting, as I have already
observed, a form larger than life, or, as Juvenal

* Arma procul, currusque virům miratur inanes.

Stant terrâ défixæ hastæ , passimque soluti
Per campos pascuntur equi; quæ gratia currûm
Armorumque fuit vivis, quæ cura nitentes
entes
Pascere equos ; eadem sequitur tellure repostos.
Æneid , vi. 651.
46 ON THE NATURE AND

has admirably expressed it upon a similar occa

sion , xiii. 221.
- Major imago
Humanâ.

A more than mortalmake :

whence the term Rephaim is rendered in the
Septuagint, Ingmvels, and by Theodotion, riyartes.
To the same effect, Ezekiel, about a century
afterwards, in his sublime prophecy of the de
struction of Egypt, a piece of poetry that has
never been surpassed in any age or country,
cb . xxxii. 18 - 26 . I can only quote a few verses,
and I do it to prove that the tradition common
to other nations, that the ghosts of heroes were
surrounded in hades, or the invisible world , with
a shadowy semblance of their former dress and
instruments of war, was equally common to
Judæa.
v. 2 . Wail ! Son ofMan, for multitudinous Egypt,
Yea, down let her be cast,
Like the daughters of the renowned nations,
Into the nether parts of the earth ,
Amongst those that have descended into the pit.
Thou ! that surpassest in beauty !
Get thee down . -
To the sword is she surrendered :
Draw him forth , and all his forces.
The chieftains of the MIGHTY DEAD ) ‫(רפאים‬
Call to him and his auxiliaries
From the lowest depths of hell,
v .27 . To the grave who have descended
. With their swords placed under their heads.
 DURATION OF THE SOUL. 47
From what quarter this popular and almost
universal tradition was derived, or in what age
it originated , we know not. I have said that it
appears to be more ancient than any of the tra.
ditions of the philosophers ; and in support of
this opinion, I chiefly allude to one or two hints
at it that are scattered throughout the book of
Job , which I must again take leave to regard as
the oldest composition that has descended to us.
I do not refer to the fearful and unrivalled de
scription of the spectre that appeared to Eliphaz,
because the narrator himself does not seem to
have regarded this as a human image, but, among
other passages * , to the following part of the
afflicted patriarch ' s severe invective against his
friend Bildad :
Yea the MIGHTY DEAD are laid open from below ,
The floods and their inhabitants .
Hell is naked before him ;
And DESTRUCTION hath no covering .
Bildad had been taunting Job with ready-made
and proverbial speeches ; and there can be no
doubt that this of Job 's, in reply , is of the same
sort; imbued with popular tradition , but a tra
dition not entering into the philosophical creed
either of himself or of any of his friends , for
throughout the whole scope of the argument upon 1

the important question of a future being, the im .

mortality and separate existence of the soul are
never once brought forward ; every ray of hope
* Ch . xx . 11.
48 ON THE NATURE AND

being, as I have already observed, derived from

the doctrine of a future resurrection of the body .
• In many parts of the world , though not in all,
this common tradition of the people was carried
much farther, and, under different modifications,
made to develope a very important and correct
doctrine ; for it was believed, in most countries,
that this hell, hades, or invisible world , is divided
into two very distinct and opposite regions by a
broad and impassable gulf ; that the one is a seat
of happiness, a paradise, or elysium , and the
other a seat of misery , a Gehenna, or Tartarus ;
and that there is a supreme magistrate and an
impartial tribunal belonging to the infernal
shades, before which the ghost must appear, and
by which he is sentenced to the one or the other,
according to the deeds done in the body.
Egypt is generally said to have been the in
ventress of this important and valuable part of
the common tradition ; and, undoubtedly, it is
to be found in the earliest records of Egyptian
history : but from the wonderful conformity of
its outlines to the parallel doctrine of the Scrip
tures, it is probable that it has a still higher origin ,
and that it constituted a part of the patriarchal
or antediluvian creed, retained in a few channels,
though forgotten or obliterated in others ; and,
consequently, that it was a divine communication
in a very early age.
Putting by all traditionary information , how
ever, there were many philosophers of Greece,
who attempted to reason upon the subject, and
 DURATION OF THE SOUL . 49

seemed desirous of abiding by the result of

their own argument. Of these the principal are,
Socrates, Plato, and Epicurus. The first is by
far the most entitled to our attention for the
simplicity and clearness of his conception , and
the strength of his belief. Unfortunately we
have no satisfactory relic of the great chain of
induction by which hewas led to so correct and
happy a conclusion ; for we must not confound
his ideas with those of Plato, who has too fre
quently intermixed his own with them . From
the lucid and invaluable MEMORABILIA of his
disciple Xenophon , however, we have historical
grounds for affirming that whatever may have
been the train of his reasoning, it led him to a
general assurance that the human soul is allied
to the Divine Being, yet not by a participation
of essence, but by a similarity of nature ; and
hence that the existence of good men will be
continued after death in a state in which they
will be rewarded for their virtue. Upon the
future condition of the wicked, Socrates appears
to have said but little ; he chiefly speaks of it as
being less happy than that of the virtuous : and
it has hence been conceived that, as he thought
the sole hope of immortality to the good man was
founded upon his becoming assimilated to the di
vine nature, he may have imagined that the un
assimilated soul of the wicked would perish with
its body ; and the more so, as he allowed the
samecommon principle or facultyofreason, though
VOL. III. .
50 ON THE NATURE AND

in a subordinate degree, to all other animals as to

man ; and hence again , gave sufficient proof
that he did not regard this principle as necessarily
incorruptible. To me, however, his opinion
seems rather to have been of a contrary kind,
importing future existence and punishment.
Upon this sublime subject, indeed, he appears
at times to have been not altogether free from
anxiety : but it is infinitely to his credit, and
evinces a testimony in favour of the doctrine
itself far more powerful than the force of ar
gument, and even breathing of divine inspira .
tion that, in his last moments, he triumphed in
the persuasion of its truth, and had scarcely a
doubt upon his mind. When the venerable
sage, at this time in his seventieth year, took the
poisoned cup, to which he had been condemned
by an ungrateful country , he alone stood un
moved while his friends were weeping around
him : he upbraided their cowardice, and en
treated them to exercise a manliness worthy of
the patrons of virtue : “ It would, indeed," said
he “ be inexcusable in me to despise death if I
were not persuaded that it will conduct me into
the presence of the gods, the righteous gover
nors of the universe, and into the society of
just and good men : but I draw confidence
from the hope that something of man remains
after death , and that the state of the good will
be much better than that of the bad .” He
drank the deadly cup, and shortly afterwards
expired . Such was the end of the virtuous
 DURATION OF THE SOUL. 51

Socrates ! " A story,” says Cicero, “ which Inever

read without tears.” *
The soul of the Platonic system is a much
more scholastic compound than that of the
Socratic ; it is in truth a motley triad produced
by an emanation from the Deity or Eternal In
telligence, uniting itself with some portion of
the soul of the world, and some portion of
matter. In his celebrated Phædo, Plato dis
tinctly teaches, and endeavours to prove, that
this compound structure had a pre -existent
beirg , and is immortal in its own nature ; and
that as its did exist in a separate state ante
cedently to its union with the body, it will
probably continue to exist in the samemanner
after death . There are various other arguments
in favour of its immortality introduced into the
same dialogue, and, like the present, derived
from the different tenets of his own fanciful
theory ; in no respect more cogent, and only
calculated for the meridian of the schools.
In the writings of Aristotle there is nothing
which decisively determines whether he thought
the human soul mortał or immortal ; but the
former is most probable from the notion he en
tertained concerning its nature and origin ; con
ceiving it to be an intellectual power, externally
transmitted into the human body from the
eternal intelligence, the common source of ra

* Mem . Xen . l. i. Nat. Deor. iii. 33. Calix venenatus

qui Socratem transtulit è carcere in cælum . Senec. Ep. 67.
E 2
52 ON THE NATURE AND

tionality to human beings. Aristotle does not

inform his readers what he conceived the prin
ciple, thus universally communicated, to consist
of; but there is no proof that he supposed it
would continue after the death of the body. * i
· The grand opponent of the soul's immor
tality , however, among theGreeks was Epicurus.
He conceived it to be a fine, elastic , sublimated ,
spiritualized gass or aura , composed of the most
subtle parts of the atmosphere , as caloric, pure
air, and vapour t, introduced into the system in
the act of respiration , peculiarly elaborated by
peculiar organs, and united with a something
still lighter, still rarer, and more active than all
the rest ; at that time destitute of name, and
incapable of sensible detection , offering a won
derful resemblance to the electric or galvanic
gass of modern times. In the words of Lucre .
tius, who has so accurately and elegantly de
scribed the whole of the Epicurean system : ,
- Penitus prorsum latet hæc natura, subestque ;
Nec magis hac infra quidquam est in corpore nostro ;
Atque anima est animæ proporro totiusipsa. I
Far from all vision this profoundly lurks,
Through the whole system 's utmost depth diffus'd ,
And lives as soul of e'en the soul itself.

* De Gen . An. ii. 3 . iii. 11. Cic. Tusc. Q . i. 10. Enfield's

Brucker, i. 285.
. + In the language of Lucretius, iii. 284.
Ventus et aer
. Et calor -
I Lib . iji. 274.
 DURATION OF THE SOUL. 58
The soul thus produced , Epicurus affirmed ,
must be material, because we can trace it issu .
ing from a material source ; because it exists,
and exists alone in a materialsystem ; is nourished
by material food ; grows with the growth of the
body ; becomes matured with its maturity ; de
clines with its decay ; and hence, whether be
longing to man or brutes, must die with its
death.
But this is to suppose that every combination
of matter, and every principle and quality con
nected with matter, are equally submitted to our
senses, and equally comprehended by them . It
has already appeared that we cannot determine
for certain whether one or two of the principles
which enters into the composition of the soul,
upon this philosopher's own system , are matter ,
or something superior to matter, and, conse
quently , a distinct essence blended with it, out
of the animal fabric as well as in it. Yet if they
be matter, and the soul thus consists of matter,
of a matter far lighter, more subtilized and
active than that of the body, it does not follow
that it must necessarily perish with the body.
The very minute heartlet, or corcle, which every
one must have noticed in the heart of a walnut,
does not perish with the solid mass of the shell
and kernel that encircle it : on the contrary,
it survives this, and gives birth to the future
plant which springs from this substance, draws
hence its nourishment, and shoots higher and
E 3
 54 ON THE NATURE AND
higher towards the heavens as the grosser mate
rials that surrounds the corcle are decaying. In
like manner the decomposition of liine-stone,
instead of destroying, sets at liberty the light
gass that was imprisoned in its texture ; and the
gay and gaudy butterfly mounts into the skies
from the dead and mouldering cerement by
which it was lately surrounded . Matter is not
necessarily corruptible under any form . The
Epicureans themselves, as well as the best
schools of modern philosophy, believed it to be
solid and unchangeable in its elementary par
ticles. Crystallised into granitic mountains, we
have innumerable instances of its appearing to
have resisted the united assaults of time and
tempests ever since the creation of the world .
And in the light and gaseous texture in which
we are at present contemplating it, it is still
more inseparable and difficult of decomposition.
Whether material or immaterial, therefore, it
does not necessarily follow , even upon the prin
ciples of this philosophy itself, that the soul
must be necessarily corruptible ; nor does it
moreover necessarily follow that, admitting it to
be incorruptible or immortal in man, it must be
so in brutes. Allowing the essence to be the
same, the difference of its modification, or ela
boration, which this philosophy admits produces
the different degrees of its perfection, may also
be sufficient to produce a difference in its power
of duration . And for any thing we know to the
contrary, while some material bodies may be
 DURATION OF THE SOUL . 55

exempt from corruption, there may be some

immaterial bodies that are subject to it. ,
The philosophers of Rome present us with
nothing new ; for they merely followed the
dogmas of those of Greece. Cicero, though he
has given us much of the opinions of other
writers upon the nature and duration of the
soul, has left us almost as little of his own as
Aristotle has done. Upon the whole, he seems
chiefly to have favoured the system of Plato .
Seneca and Epictetus were avowed and zealous
adherents to the principles of the Stoics ; and
Lucretius to those of Epicurus.
Upon the whole, philosophy seems to have
made but an awkward handle of the important
question before us. A loose and glimmering
twilight appears to have been common to most
nations : but the more men attempted to reason
upon it, at least with a single exception or two,
the more they doubted and became involved
in difficulties. They believed and they disbe
lieved , they hoped and they feared , and life
passed away in a state of perpetual anxiety and
agitation . But this was not all : perplexed, even
where they admitted the doctrine, about the
will of the Deity, and the mode of securing his
favour after death, with their own abstruse
speculations they intermixed the religion of the
multitude. They acknowledged the existence of
the popular divinities : clothed them with the
attributes of the Eternal ; and, anxious to obtain
their benediction, were punctilious in attending
E 4
 56 ON THE NATURE AND

at their temples, and united in the sacrifices

that were presented . Even Socrates, amidst the
last words he uttered, desired Crito not to for
get to offer for him the cock which he had
vowed to Esculapius.*
In effect, the whole of the actual knowledge
possessed at any time, appears to have been tra
ditionary : for we may well doubt whether,
without such a basis to have built upon , philo
sophy would ever have started any well
grounded opinion in favour of a future state.
And this traditionary knowledge seems to have
been of two kinds, and both kinds to have
been delivered at a very early age of the world
the immortality of the soul, and the final re
surrection of the body . From the preceding
sketch it seems reasonable to suppose that both
these doctrines (unquestionably beyond the
reach of mere human discovery) were divinely
communicated to the patriarchs ; and amidst
the growing wickedness of succeeding times,
gradually forgotten and lost sight of : in some
quarters one of them being slightly preserved ,
in some quarters the other, and in one or two
regions, both .
In this last division it is highly probable we
are to class the Hebrews at the epoch ofMoses :
and hence, perhaps, the reason why neither of
these doctrines is specially promulgated in any
part of his institutes. But in subsequent times

* Xenoph .Mem . l. iv. Plat.Apol. Laert. ii.

 DURATION OF THE SOUL. 57

both appear to have lost much of their force

even amongst this people. The Pharisees and
Caraites, indeed, whose opinions (whatever
night be their practice) were certainly the most
orthodox, supported them ; but they are well
known to have been both relinquished by the
Sadducees, and one of them (the resurrection ,)
by the Essenes. Solomon, whose frequent use
of Arabisms evidently betrays the elegant school
in which he had chiefly studied, appears with
the language to have imbibed the philosophy of
the Arabian peninsula, and hence , ' to have ad
mitted ( in direct opposition to the Essenes, who
drew their creed from India, ) the doctrine of
the resurrection of the body and a state of re
tribution , while he disbelieved the doctrine of
the separate immortality of the soul : and the
. distinction ought to be constantly kept in view
while perusing his writings, since otherwise they
may appear in different places to contradict
themselves. Thus, in order to confound the
pomp and pageantry of the proud and the
powerful, and to show them the vanity, and
nothingness of life, he adverts to the last of
these doctrines and confines himself to it,
Eccl. iii . 19, 20. “ That which befalleth the sons
ofmen befalleth beasts, even the same thing be
falleth them : as the one dieth so dieth the other ;
yea, they have all one breath (or spirit ), so that
a man hath no pre-eminence above a beast, for
all is vanity : all go unto one place ; all are of
the dust, and all turn to dust again ." But when
58 ON THE NATURE AND

addressing himself to the young and giddy pur

suer of pleasure, in order to alarm him in the
midst of his gay and licentious career, he as dis
tinctly alludes and as carefully confines himself
to the first of these doctrines. His language
then is, ch. xi. 9. “ Rejoice, O young man , in
thy youth ," — and tread as thou wilt the
flowery paths of indulgence and pleasure ; “ but
know thou that for all these things God will
bring thee into judgment.” There is an equal
point, a keen and forcible moral in both ad
dresses, and which could not fail to strike the
heart of those to whom they were respectively
delivered . .
It has been said by some writers that the
judgment here referred to relates to the pre
sent world , and must be so interpreted to
avoid the self- contradiction I have just adverted
to. But the wisdom of Solomon stands in no
need of the feeble and rushlight illumination of
such commentators ; nor could it ever be so
said by any critic who has diligently attended to
the mixed language of Solomon's diction , or
rather to the Arabisms he so frequently indulges
in ; and who, from this and various other sources,
has traced out that his early studies must have
been passed in Arabia , or under the superintend
ence of Arabian tutors ; and who at the same
time calls to mind that the Idumæan cities of
Dedan and Teman had the same classical cha
racter at Jerusalem that the cities of Athens and
Corinth had at Rome.
 DURATION OF THE SQUL. 59

But are we still abandoned to the same un .

fixed and shadowy evidence, with just light
enough to kindle the hope of immortality, and
darkness enough to strangle it the moment it is
born ? Beset as the world is at all times with
physical and moral evils, and doubly beset as it
is at present; while virtue, patriotism , and
piety are bleeding at every pore ; while the
sweet influences of the heavens seem turned to
bitterness, the natural constellations of the
zodiac to have been pulled down from their
high abodes, and vice, tyranny, and atheism to
have usurped their places, and from their respec
tive ascendants, to be breathing mildew and
pestilence over the pale face of the astonished
earth * , is it to the worn -out traces of tradition ,
or the dubious fancies of philosophy, that this
important doctrine is alone entrusted ? - a doc
trine not more vital to the hopes of man than
to the justice of the Deity ? - No ; the fulness
of the times has at length arrived : the veil of
separation is drawn aside ; themighty and mys
terious truth is published by a voice from
heaven ; it is engraved on pages of adamant,
and attested by the affirmation of the godhead .
It tells us, in words that cannot lie, that the soul
is immortal from its birth ; that the strong and
inextinguishable desire we feel of future being
10
is the true and natural impulse of a high-born
* This lecture was delivered during the period of the
French Revolution .
60 NATURE AND DURATION OF THE SOUL .

and inextinguishable principle : and that the

blow which prostrates the body and imprisons it
in the grave, gives pinions to the soaring spirit
and crowns it with freedom and triumph . But
this is not all : it tells us too that gross matter
itself is not necessarily corruptible : that the free
dom and triumph of the soul shall hereafter be
extended to the body ; that this corruptible shall
put on incorruption, this mortal immortality ,
and a glorious and beatified re-union succeed .
By what means such re-union is to be accom
plished, or why such separation should be neces
sary , we know not, — for we know not how the
union was produced at first. They are mysteries
that yet remain locked up in the bosom of the
great Creator : and are as inscrutable to the sage
as to the savage, to the philosopher as to the
schoolboy ; — they are left, and perhaps pur
posely,, to make a mock at all human science ;
and, while they form the groundwork of man' s
future happiness, forcibly to point out to him
that his proper path to it is through the gate of
humility .
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING , 61

LECTURE III.
ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING .

Having taken a brief survey of the essence and

duration of the soul, mind , or intelligent prin
ciple , as far as we have been able to collect any
information upon this abstruse subject, from
reason , tradition , and revelation, let us now
proceed, with equal modesty and caution , to an
examination into its faculties, and the mode by
which they develope themselves and acquire
knowledge.
“ All our knowledge,” observes Lord Bacon ,
“ is derived from experience .” It is a remark
peculiarly characteristic of that comprehensive
judgment with which this great philosopher at
all times contemplated the field of nature, and
which has been assumed as the common basis
of every system that has since been fabricated
upon the subject. “ Whence,” enquires Mr.
Locke, " comes the mind by that vast store
which the busy and boundless fancy of man has
painted on it with an almost endless variety ?
Whence has it all the materials of reason and
knowledge ? I answer, in a word, from expe
rience. In this all our knowledge is founded ,
from this the whole emanates and issues."
62 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING .

M . Degerando, and, in short, all the French

philosophers of the present day , in adopting
Locke's system , have necessarily adopted this
important maxim as the groundwork of their
reasoning ; and though, as a general principle,
it has been lately called in question by a few of
the ablest advocates for what they have ventured
to denominate the Theory of Common Sense,
and especially by Professor Stewart * , as I may
perhaps find it necessary to notice more particu .
larly hereafter, it is sufficient for the present to
observe that the shrewd and learned projector of
this theory, Dr. Reid , admits it in its utmost
latitude : “ Wise men ,” says he, “ now agree
or ought to agree in this, that there is but one
way to the knowledge of nature' s works, the way
of observation and experiment. By our consti
tution we have a strong propensity to trace par
ticular facts and observations to general rules,
and to apply such general rules to account for
other effects, or to direct us in the production
of them . This procedure of the understanding
is familiar to every human creature in the com
mon affairs of life, and IT IS THE ONLY ONE BY
WHICH ANY REAL DISCOVERY IN PHILOSOPHY CAN
BE MADE." t .
Now the only mode by which we can obtain
experience is by the use and exercise of the
senses, which have been given to us for this

* Philos. Essays, vol. i. p . 122.

+ Inquiry into the Human Mind, p . 2 .
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING . 63

purpose, and which , to speak figuratively, may

be regarded as the fingers of the mind in feeling
its way forward, and opening the shutters to the
admission of that pure and invigorating light,
which in consequence breaks in upon it.
It must be obvious, however, to every one
who has attended to the operations ofhis senses,
that there never is, nor can be, any direct com
munication between the mind and the external
objects the mind perceives, which are usually,
indeed , at some distance from the sense that
gives notice of them . Thus, in looking at a
tree , it is the eye alone that really beholds the
tree, while the mind only receives a notice of
its presence, by some means or other, from the
visual organ . So in touching this table, it is my
hand alone that comes in contact with it, and
communicates to my mind a knowledge of its
hardness and other qualities. What then is the
medium by which such communication is main
tained , which induces the mind, seated as it is
in some undeveloped part of the brain , to have
a correspondent perception of the form , size,
colour, smell, and even distance of objects with
the senses which are seated on the surface of ,
the body : and which , at the same time that it .
conveys this information, produces such an ad
ditional effect that the mind is able at its option
to revive the perception; or call up an exact
notion or idea of these qualities at a distant
period, or when the objects themselves are no
longer present ? Is there, or is there not, any
64 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING .

resemblance between the external or sensible

object and the internal ormental idea or notion ?
If there be a resemblance, in what does that
resemblance consist ? and how is it produced
and supported ? Does the external object throw
off representative likenesses of itself in films, or
under any other modification , so fine as to be
able, like the electric or magnetic aura, to pass
without injury from the object to the sentient
organ, and from the sentient organ to thesensory ?
Or has the mind itself a faculty of producing,
like a looking-glass, accurate counter-signs,
intellectual pictures or images, correspondent
with the sensible images communicated from the
external object to the sentient organ ? If, on
the contrary, there be no resemblance, are the
O res

mental perceptions mere notions or intellectual

symbols excited in it by the action of the ex
ternal sense ; which, while they bear no simi
litude to the qualities of the object discerned,
answer the purpose of those qualities, as letters
answer the purpose of sounds ? Or are we sure
that there is any external world whatever ? any
thing beyond the intellectual principle that per
ceives, and the sensations and notions that are
perceived ; or even any thing beyond those sen
sations and notions, those impressions and ideas
themselves ?
Several of these questions may perhaps ap
IS

pear in no small degree whimsical and brain

sick, and more worthy of St. Luke's than of a
scientific institution . But all of them , and
22
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING . : 05
perhaps as many more, of a temperament as wild
as the wildest, have been asked , and insisted
upon, and supported again and again in different
ages and countries,by philosophers of the clearest
intellects in other respects, and who had no idea
of labouring under any such mental infirmity ,
amed of the necessity of being
Пес

blistered and taking physic . *

There is scarcely, however, an hypothesis
which has been started in modern times that
cannot look for its prototype or suggestion
among the ancients : and it will hence be found
most advantageous, and may perhaps prove the
shortest way to begin at the fountain -head, and
to trace the different currents which have flowed
from it. That fountain -head is Greece, or at
least we may so regard it on the present occa
sion ; and the plan which I shall request leave to
pursue in the general enquiry before us will be,
first of all to take a rapid sketch of the most
celebrated speculations upon this subject to which
this well-spring of wisdom has given rise ; next
to follow up the chief ramifications which have
issued from them in later periods ; and lastly to
summon, as by a quo warranto, themore pro
minent of those of our own day to appear per
sonally before the bar of this enlightened tribunal,
for the purpose of trying their comparative pre

* See the Author's Study of Medicine, vol. iv . p. 46.

Edit. 2. 1825.
VOL. III .
66 ON HUMAN, UNDERSTANDING .

tensions,and of submitting them to your impartial

award .
The principal systems that were started among
the philosophers of Greece to explain the origin
and value of human knowledge were those of
Plato , of Aristotle, of Epicurus, and of the scep
tics, especially Pyrrho and Arcesilas ; and the
principal systems to which they have given
birth in later or modern times, are those of Des
Cartes, Locke, Berkeley, Hume, Hartley, Kant,
and the Scottish school of Common Sense , at the
head of which we are to place Dr. Reid .
I had occasion to observe , in our first series
of lectures * , that it was a dogma common to
many of the Greek schools, that matter, though
essentially eternal, is also , in its primal and sim
ple state, essentially amorphous, or destitute of all
form and quality whatever ; and I further re
marked, that the ground-work of this dogma
consisted in a belief that form and quality are
the contrivance of an intelligent agent ; while
matter, though essentially eternal, is essentially
unintelligent. Matter, therefore, it was con
tended , cannot possibly assume one mode of
form rather than another mode ; for if it were
capable of assuming any kind, it must have been
capable of assuming every kind, and of course
of exhibiting intelligent effects without an intel.
ligent cause.

* Vol. I. Ser. I. Lect. II.

 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING . 67

Form , then , according to the Platonic schools,

in which this was principally taught, existing
distinct from matter by the mere will of the
Great First Cause, presented itself, from all eter
nity, to his wisdom or logos, in every possible
variety ; or, in other words, under an infinite
multiplicity of incorporeal or intellectualpatterns,
exemplars, or archetypes, to which the founder
of this school gave the name of ideas ; a term
that has descended without any mischief into
the popular language of our own day ; but
which, in the hands of the schoolmen , and various
other theorists, has not unfrequently been pro
ductive of egregious errors and abuses. By the
union of these intellectual archetypes with the
whole or with any portion of primary or incor
poreal matter, matter immediately becomes em
bodied, assumes palpable forms, correspondent
with the archetypes united with it, and is ren
dered an object of perception to the external
senses ; the mind , or intelligent principle itself,
however, which is an emanation from the great
intelligent cause, never perceiving any thing
more than the intellectual or formative ideas of
objects as they are presented to the senses ; and
reasoning concerning them by those ideas alone..
It mustbe obvious, however, that the mind is
possessed of many ideas which it could not derive
from a material source. Such are all those that
relate to abstractmoral truths, and pure mathe
matics. And to account for these , it was a
doctrine of the Platonic philosophy, that, besides
F 2
68 ON HUMAN UNDER .
STAND
ING
the sensible world , there is also an intelligible
world ; that the mind of man is equally con
nected with both, though the latter cannot pos
sibly be discerned by corporeal organs ; and
that, as the mind perceives and reasons upon
sensible objects by means of sensible archetypes
or ideas, so it perceives and reasons upon intel
ligible objects by means of intelligible ideas.
The only essential variation from this hypothe
sis which Aristotle appears to have introduced
into his own, consists in his having clothed , if
I may beallowed the expression , the naked ideas
of Plato , with the actual qualities of the objects
perceived ; his doctrine being , that the sense, on
perceiving or being excited by an external ob
ject, conveys to the mind a real resemblance of
it ; which , however, though possessing form ,
colour, and other qualities ofmatter, is not mat
ter itself, but an insubstantial image, like the pic
ture in a mirror ; as though themind itself were
a kind of mirror, and had a power of reflecting
the image of whatever object is presented to the
external senses. This insubstantial image or
picture, in order to distinguish it from the intel
lectual pattern or idea of Plato , he denomi.
nated a phantasm . And as he supported with
Plato the existence of an intelligible as well as
of a sensible world , it was another part of his
hypothesis that, while things sensible are per.
ceived by sensible phantasms, things intelligible
are perceived by intelligible phantasms; and
consequently that virtue and vice, truth and
 falsehood , time, space and numbers, have all
their pictures and phantasms, as well as plants,
houses, and animals.
Epicurus admitted a part of this hypothesis,
and taught it contemporaneously at Mitylene,
but the greater part he openly opposed and ridi
culed . He concurred in the doctrine that the
mind perceives sensible objects by means of sen
sible images ; buthe contended that those images
are as strictly material as the objects from which
they emanate ; and that if we allow them to pos
sessmaterial qualities, we must necessarily allow
them at the same time to possess the substance
to which such qualities appertain . Epicurus,
therefore, believed the perceptions of the mind
to be real and substantial effigies, and to these
effigies he gave the nameof elowha, (idola ) or SPE
CIES, in contradistinction to the insubstantial
PHANTASMS of Aristotle, and the intellectual or
formative iDEAS of Plato. He maintained that
all external objects are perpetually throwing off
fine alternate waves of different flavours, odours,
colours , shapes, and other qualities ; which , by
striking against their appropriate senses, excite in
the senses themselves a perception of the qualities
and presence of the parent object ; and are imme.
diately conveyed by the sentient channel to the
chamber of the mind , or sensory , without any
injury to their texture : in the same manner as
heat, light, and magnetism pervade solid sub
stances, and still retain their integrity . And he
affirmed further that, instead of the existence of
F 3
 70 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING .

an imaginary , intelligible world , throwing off in

telligible images, it is from the sensible or mate
rial world alone that the mind, by the exercise
of its proper faculties, in union with that of the
corporeal senses, derives every branch of know
ledge, physical, moral, or mathematical.
If this view of the abstruse subject before us
be correct, as I flatter myself it is, I may recapi
tulate in few words, that the external perceptions
of the mind are, according to Plato, the primitive
or intellectual patterns from which the forms and
other qualities of objects have been taken ; accord
ing to Aristotle, insubstantial pictures of them , as
though reflected from a mirror ; and, according
to Epicurus, substantial or material effigies :
such perceptions being under the first view of
them denominated IDEAS ; under the second,
PHANTASMS ; under the third , idola, or SPECIES.
PH EO

While such were the fixed and promulgated

tenets of Plato , Aristotle, and Epicurus, there
were other philosophers of Greece, or who at
least have been so denominated, that openly
professed themselves to be without tenets of any
kind ; who declared that nothing was known or
could be known upon any subject ; and who ,
consequently , inculcated an universal scepticism .
Of this delirious class of disputants, who were
suffered to wander at large without a strait
waistcoat, there are two that are pre-eminently
entitled to our attention, Pyrrho and Arcesilas.
Pyrrho studied first in the atomic school of De
mocritus, and seems to have lost his senses upon
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING . 71

the question of the infinite divisibility ofmatter,

a question which has not unfrequently given
birth to the same disease in modern times. He
first doubted the solidity of its elementary atoms,
- he next found out, that if these be not solid ,
every thing slips away from the fingers in a
moment — the external world becomes a mere
show — and there is no truth or solidity in any
thing. He was not able to prove the solidity of
the elementary atoms of matter. He hence
doubted of every thing ; advised all the world
to do the same ; and established a school for the
purpose of inculcating this strange doctrine. In
every other respect he was a man of distinguished
accomplishments, and so highly esteemed by his
countrymen , as to have been honoured with the
dignity of chief priest, and exempted from pub
lic taxation. But, to such a formidable extreme
did this disease of scepticism carry him , that one
or more of his friends, as we are gravely told in
history, were obliged to accompany him where
ever he went, that he might not be run over by
carriages, or fall down precipices. Yet he con
trived, by some means or other , to live longer
than most men of caution and common sense ;
for we find him at last dying of a natural death ,
at the good old age of ninety.
Arcesilas was one of the successors to Plato
in the academic chair , and founder of the school
that has been known by the name of theMIDDLE
ACADEMY. Plato , in his fondness for intellectual
IDEAS, those creatures ofhis own imagination , had
F 4
72 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING .

always given a much greater degree of credit to

their testimony than to that of the objects which ,
compose the material world ; believing that the *
mind was less likely to be imposed upon than
the external senses. And with so much zeal
was this feeling or prejudice followed up by
Arcesilas, that he soon began to doubt, and
advised his scholars to doubt also , of the reality
of every thing they saw about them ; and at
length terminated his doubts in questioning the
competency of reason itself to decide upon any
evidence the external senses might produce,
though he admitted an external world of some
kind or other. And upon being reminded , by
one of his scholars, who had a wish to please
him , that the only thing which Socrates declared
he was certain of was his own ignorance, he
immediately replied, that Socrates had no right
to say even that for that no man could be
certain of any thing. Itwas against this unhappy
madman, though in other respects, like Pyrrho,
excellent and accomplished scholar, that Lucre
tius directed those forcible verses in favour of the
truth and testimony of the senses, as the only
genuine means of acquiring knowledge, which

commended in the controversy of the present

day :
Who holds that nought is known, denies he knows
E’en this, thus owning that he nothing knows.
With such I ne'er could reason ,who,with face
Retorted, treads the ground just trod before.
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING . 73
Yet grant e'en thishe knows ; since nought exists
Of truth in things, whence learnshe what to know ,
Or what not know ? What things can give him first
The notion crude of what is false or true ?
What prove aught doubtful, or of doubt devoid ?
· Search , and this earliest notion thou wilt find
Of truth and falsehood, from the senses drawn ,
Nor aught can e'er refute them ; for what once,
By truths oppos'd , their falsehood can detect,
Must claim a trust far ampler than themselves.
Yet what, than these, an ampler trust can claim ?
Can reason , born , forsooth , of erring sense ,
Impeach those senses whence alone it springs ?
And which , if false, itself can ne'er be true.
Can sight correct the ears ? Can ears the touch ?
Or touch the tongue's fine flavour ? or , o 'er all
Can smell triumphant rise ? Absurd the thought !
For every sense a separate function boasts,
A power prescrib 'd ; and hence, or soft, or hard ,
Or hot, or cold, to its appropriate sense
Alone appeals. The gaudy train of hues,
With their light shades, appropriate thus, alike
Perceive we ; tastes appropriate powers possess ;
Appropriate, sounds and odours ; and hence, too,
One sense another ne'er can contravene,
Nor e'en correct itself ; since, every hour ,
In every act, each claims an equal faith .
E 'en though the mind no real cause could urge
Why what is square when present, when remote
Cylindric seems,'twere dangerous less to adopt
A cause unsound, than rashly yield at once
All that we grasp of truth and surety most ;
Rend all reliance, and root up, forlorn,
The first firm principles of life and health .
For not alone fails reason, life itself
Ends instant, if the senses thou distrust,
And dare some dangerous precipice , or aught
Against warn’d equal, spurning what is safe.
Hence all against the senses urg'd is vain ;
Mere idle rant, and hollow pomp of words.
 A NDING
74 ON HUMAN UNDERST .

As, in a building, if the first lines err,

If aught impede the plummet, or the rule
From its just angles deviate but a hair ,
The total edifice must rise untrue,
Recumbent, curv'd , o 'erhanging,void of grace,
Tumbling or tumbled from this first defect, —
So must all reason prove unsound, deduc'd
From things created, if the senses err. *
It is not to be supposed that mankind could
consent to be inoculated with this disease to any
great extent, or for any considerable period of
time: and hence the chief hypotheses that were
countenanced at Rome, and till the decline of
the Roman empire, were those of Plato , Aris
Ver

totle, and Epicurus. During the dark ages,

Aristotle seems to have held an undivided so
vereignty ; and, though his competitors came in
for a share of power upon the revival of liter
ature, he still held possession of the majority of
the schools, till, in the middle of the seventeenth
century , Des Cartes introduced a new hypo
thesis, which served as a foundation for most
of the systems or speculations which have ap
peared since.
With Aristotle and Epicurus Des Cartes con
tended that the mind perceives external objects
by images or resemblances presented to it : these
images he called, after Plato , ideas ; though he
neither acceded to the meaning of this term as

* Denique, nihil sciri si quis putat, id quoque nescit

An sciri possit, & c . — Lib . iv . 471.

The passage is too long for quotation , and the reader may
easily turn to it at his leisure.
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING . 75

given by Plato, nor allowed with Aristotle or

Epicurus that they proceed from the objects
themselves, and are transmitted to the mind
through the channel of the senses ; so that the
precise signification he attached to this term is
not clear. With Epicurus he threw away the
doctrine of an intellectual world ; but contended,
in order to supply its place, that the mind has
a large stock of ideas of its own, implanted by
the hand of nature, and not derived from the
world around us: ideas,therefore, that are strictly
innate , and may be found on being searched
for, though otherwise not necessarily present to
the mind 's contemplation . Among these the
principal are , the idea of thought, or conscious
ness, of God, and of matter ; all which may
be fully depended upon as so many established
truths : and hence, upon his hypothesis, all real
knowledge flows from an internal source, or, in
other words, from the mind itself. These ideas
can never deceive us, though the senses may do
so in their report concerning external objects ;

trusted to and reasoned from even in questions

that relate to the senses.
In analysing the idea of THOUGHT, the mind ,
according to Aristotle , discovers it to be a power
that has neither extension, figure, local motion ,
nor any other property commonly ascribed to
body. In analysing the idea of God, the mind
finds presented to it a being necessarily and
eternally existing, supremely intelligent, power
76 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING .
ful, and perfect, the fountain of all goodness
and truth, and the creator of the universe . In
analysing the idea of MATTER , themind perceives
it to be a substance possessing no other property
than extent : — or, in other words, as having
nothing else belonging to it than length , breadth ,
and thickness ; that space , possessing equally this
property , is a part of matter, and consequently
that matter is universal, and there is no vacuum .
From these, and other innate ideas, compared
and combined with the ideas of sensation , or
those furnished to the mind by the senses, flows,
on the hypothesis of Des Cartes, the whole fund
of human understanding , or all the knowledge
that mankind are or can be possessed of.
There are two fundamental errors, and errors,
moreover, of an opposite character, that accom
pany, or rather introduce , this hypothesis, and to
which, popular as it was at one time, it has at
length completely fallen a sacrifice : these are
the attempting to prove what ought to be taken
for granted, and the taking for granted what
ought to be proved.
The philosophy of Des Cartes sets off with
supposing that every man is more or less under
the influence of prejudice, and consequently that
he cannot know the real truth of any thing till
he has thoroughly sifted it. It follows neces
sarily, as a second position, that every man -
ought, at least once in his life, to doubt of every
thing, in order to sift it ; not, however, like the
sceptics ofGreece, that, by such examination, he
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING . 77

may be confirmed in doubt, but that, by obtain

ing proofs , he may have a settled conviction .
Full fraught with these preliminary principles,
our philosopher opens his career of knowledge,
and while he himself continues as grave as the
noble knight of La Mancha, his journey com
mences almost as ludicrously. His first doubt
is whether he himself is alive or in being, and
his next, whether any body is alive or in being
about him . He soon satisfies himself, how
ever, upon the first point, by luckily finding
out that he thinks, and therefore, says he gravely ,
I must be alive : Cogito , ergo sum . " I think ,
and therefore I am .” And he almost as soon
satisfies himself upon the second, by feeling with
his hands about him , and finding out that he
can run them against a something or a somebody
else, against a man or a post. He then returns
IS

home to himself once more, overjoyed with this

demonstration of his fingers ; and commences a
second voyage of discovery by doubting whether
he knows any thing besides his own existence,
and that of a something beyond him . And he
now ascertains, to his inexpressible satisfaction ,
that the soil of his own mind is sown with indi
genous ideas precisely like that of thought or
consciousness. These he digs up one after an
other, in order to examine them . One of the
first that turns up is that of a God : one of the
next is an idea that informs him that the outside
of himself, or rather of his mind, is matter ;
and combining the whole he has thus far acquired
 G
TANDIN
78 ON HUMAN UNDERS .

with other information obtained from the same

sources, he finds that the people whom he has
before discovered by means of his hands and
eyes call this matter a body, and that the said
people have bodies of the same kind, and also
the same kind of knowledge as himself, although
not to the same extent or demonstration ; and
for this obvious reason , because they have not
equally doubted and examined.
It is difficult to be grave upon such a subject,
What would be thought or said of any indivi
dual in the present audience, who should rise
up and openly tell us that he had been long
troubled with doubts whether he really existed
or not ; that his friends had told him he did,
and he was inclined to believe so ; but that as
this belief might be a mere prejudice, he was at .
length determined to try the fact by asking him
self this plain question , - " Do I think pos Is
there a person before me but would exclaim ,
almost instinctively, “ Ah ! poor creature, he
had better ask himself another plain question ,
whether he is in his sober senses ? ”
If, however, we attempt to examine seriously
the mode which M . Des Cartes thus proposes of
following up his own principles, it is impossible
not to be astonished at his departure from them
at the first outset. Instead of doubting of every
thing and proving every thing , the very first
position before him he takes for granted : “ I
think ; therefore I am .” Of these two positions,
he makes the first the proof of the second, but
12
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING . 79
what is the proof of the first ? If it be neces
sary to prove that HE IS , the very ground -work
of his system renders it equally necessary to
prove that HE THINKS. But this he does not
attempt to do : in direct contradiction to his
fundamental principles he here commits a petitio
principii, and takes it for granted . I do not find
fault with him for taking it for granted ; but
then he might as well have saved himself the
trouble of manufacturing an imperfect syllogism ,
and have taken it for granted also that he was
alive or that he existed , for the last fact must
have been just as obvious to himself as the first ,
and somewhat more so to the world at large.
There is another logical error in this memor
able enthymeme, or syllogism without a head,
which ought not to pass without notice ; I mean
that the proof does not run parallel with the
predicate, and consequently does not answer its
purpose. The subject predicated is that the
philosopher exists or is alive, and to prove this
he affirms gratuitously that he thinks. « I
think ; and therefore I am .” Now , in respect
to the extent or parallelism of the proof, he
might just as well have said “ I itch ," or .. I
eat ; and therefore I am .” I will not dispute
that in all probability he thought more than he
itched, or partook of food : but let us take which
proof we will, it could only be a proof so long
as he itched, or was eating ; and consequently,
whenever he ceased from either of these condi
tions, upon his own argument, hewould have no
 NG
NDI
S TA
MAN DER
80 ON HU UN .

proof whatever of being alive. Now , that he

must often have ceased from itching, or eating,
there is no difficulty in admitting ; but then he
may also at times have ceased from thinking,
not only in various morbid states of the brain ,
but whenever he slept without dreaming. And
hence, the utmost that any such argument could
decide in his favour, let us take which kind
of proof we will, would be that he could alter
nately prove himself to be alive and alternately
not alive ; that it was obvious to himself that
he existed for and during the time that he
thought, itched, or ate, but that he had no proof
of existence as soon as these were over. ' ;
But I have said , that M . Des Cartes' philo
sophy consists not only in demanding proofs
where no proofs are necessary , and where the
re nece

truisms are so clear as to render it ludicrous to

ask for them ; but in taking for granted propo
sitions that evidently demand proof. And I now
allude to his whole doctrine of innate ideas - of
axioms or principles planted in the mind by the
hand of nature herself, and which are evidently
intended to supply the place of the intelligible
world of Plato and Aristotle .
- Of these I have only produced a small sample ,
and it is not necessary to bring more to market.
Let us state his innate idea of a God. It is, I
admit, a very reverential, correct, and perfect
one, and does him credit as a theologist : but I
am not at present debating with him as a theo
logist, but as' a logician . It is in truth owing
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING . 81

to its very perfection that I object to it ; for there

is strong ground to suspect, notwithstanding all
his care to the contrary, that he has obtained it
from induction, rather than from impulse; from an
open creed, than from a latent principle. If such
an idea be innate to him , there can be no ques
tion that it must be also innate to every one else.
Now , it so happens that the ideas of other men ,
in different parts of the world , wander from his
own idea as far as the north pole from the south .
There are some barbarians, we are told , so be .
nighted as to have no idea of a god at all.
Such , as Mr. Marsden , His Majesty ' s principal
chaplain in New South Wales, informs us, are
the very barbarous aboriginal tribes of that vast
settlement. “ They have no knowledge,” says
he, “ of any religion, false or true.” There are
others, whose idea of a god hasonly been formed
in themidst of gloom and terror: and who hence,
with miserable ignorance, represent him , in their
wooden idols, under the ugliest and mosthideous
character their gross imagination can suggest.
Atheism , in the strictest sense of the term , is at
this moment, and has been for nearly a thousand
years at least, the established belief of the majo
rity, or rather, of the whole Burman empire ; the
fundamental doctrine of whose priesthood con
sists in a denial that there is any such power as
an eternal independent essence in the universe ;
and that at this moment there is any God what
ever ; Gaudama, their last Boodh , or deity , hay
ing, by his meritorious deeds, long since reached
VOL . III.
82 . ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING .

the supreme good of Nigbar, or annihilation ;

which is the only ultimate reward in reserve for
the virtuous among mankind * ; while the ideas of

* The most authentic account of the tenets of Boodhism

which have of late years been communicated to the world ,
are those furnished by Mr. Judson , an American missionary,
who for the last ten or twelve years has been stationary at
Rangoon or Ava, has acquired an accurate knowledge of
the Burman and Pali, or vulgar and sacred tongue, and has
translated the whole of the New Testament into the former .
His very interesting account of the mission of himself and
his colleagues , as well as of the national creed of this extra
ordinary people, is to be found in his correspondence with
the American Baptist Missionary Board, as also in “ an Ac
count of the American Baptist Mission to the Burman Em
pire, in a Series of Letters addressed to a Gentleman in
London , by A . H . Judson, 8vo. Lond. 1823.” The whole
universe, according to the principles of Boodhism , is go
verned by fate , which has no more essential existence than
chance. A Boodh, or god , is occasionally produced, and
appears on earth , the last of whom was Gaudama. But
gods and men must equally follow the law or order of fate ;
theymust die, and they must suffer in a future state accord
ing to the sins they have committed on earth ; and , when
this penance has been completed, they reach alike the
supreme good of Nigbar, or utter annihilation . Gaudama,
their last deity , many hundred years ago reached this
state of final beatitude, and another deity is soon expected
to make his appearance. An eternal self-existentbeing is,
in the opinion of the Boodhists, an utter impossibility, and
they hear of such a doctrine with horror. When Mr. Jud
son had'obtained an audience of the Burman emperor in
his palace at Ava, to solicit protection and toleration, his
petition was first read ,and then a little tract, containing the
chief doctrinesofChristianity, printed in the Burman tongue,
put into the Emperor's hands. “ Heheld the tract,” saysMr.
Judson , " long enough to read the two first sentences,which
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING . . 83

the wisest philosophers of Greece appear to have

fallen far short of the bright exemplar of M . Des
Cartes.
That Des Cartes himself was possessed of this
idea at the time he wrote , no man can have any
doubt; but what proof have we that he possessed
it INNATELY ? and that he found it among the
ORIGINAL FURNITURE OF HIS MIND ?
In likemanner, he tells us, that his knowledge of
MATTER is derived from the sameunerring source ;
that its idea exists within him , and that this idea
represents it to be an extended substance,without
any other quality , and embracing space as a part
of itself. Now , if such an idea appertained natu
rally to him , it must, in like manner, appertain
naturally to every one. Let me, then, ask the aú
dience I have the honour of addressing, whether
the same notion has ever presented itself, as it
necessarily ought to have done, to the minds of
every one or of any onebeforeme? and whether
they seriously believe that SPACE is a part of
MATTER ? So far froin it, that I much question
whether even themeaning of theposition is univer
sally understood: while, with respect to those by
whom it is understood, I have a shrewd suspicion
it is not assented to ; and that they would even

assert that there is one eternalGod, who is independent of .

the incidents of mortality ; and that; beside him , there is no
god ; and then , with an air of indifference, perhaps of
disdain , he dashed it down to the ground. Our fate was
decided.” Id . p . 231.
G 2
 84 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING .

apprehend some trick had been played upon

them if they should find it in their minds. The
good father Malebranche, as excellent a Carte
sian as ever lived, and who possessed withal
quite mysticism enough to have succeeded Plato ,
upon his death, and turned Xenocrates out of
the chair, suspected that tricks like these are
perpetually played upon us. For he openly tells
us, in his Recherche de la Vérité, that ever since
the fall Satan has been making such sad work
with our senses, both external and internal, that
we can only rectify ourselves by a vigorous de
termination to doubt of every thing , after the
tried and approved Cartesian recipe : and if a
man, says he, has only learned to doubt, let him
not imagine that he has made an inconsiderable
progress. And, for this purpose, he recommends
retirement from the world , a solitary cell, and a
long course of penitence and water gruel : after
which our innate ideas, he tells us, will rise up
before us at a glance : our senses, which were at
first as honest faculties as one could desire to be
acquainted with , till debauched in their adventure
with original sin , will no longer be able to cheat
us, we shall see into the whole process of transub
stantiation , and though we behold nothing in
matter, we shall behold all things in God .
Itmay, perhaps,beconceived that I treat the sub
ject before us somewhat too flippantly or too cava
lierly. It is not, however, the subject before us
that I thus treat, but the hypothesis ; and in truth
it is the only mode in which I feel myself able to
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING . 85

treat it at all ; for I could as soon be serious

over the · Loves of the Plants,' or · The Battle of
the Frogs. And I must here venture to extend
the remark a little further, and to add , that there
is but one hypothesis amidst all those that yet
remain to be examined, that I shall be able to
treat in any other manner ; for, excepting in
this one, there is not a whit of superiority that
I can discover in any of them ; and the one I
refer to, though I admit its imperfections in
various points , is that of our own enlightened
countryman , Mr. Locke. I may, perhaps, be
laughed at in my turn , and certainly should be
so if I were as far over the Tweed as over the
Thames, and be told that I am at least half a
century behind the times. Yet, by your permis
sion, I shall dare the laugh, and endeavour, at
least, to put merriment against merriment; and
shall leave it to yourselves to determine, after a
full and impartial hearing, who has the best
claim to be pleasant. So that the study of me.
taphysics may not, perhaps, appear quite so
gloomy and repugnant as the writings of some
philosophers would represent it. If it have its
gravity, it may also be found to have its gaiety
as well ; and to prove that there is no science in
which it better becomes us to adopt the maxim
of the poet, and to
Laugh where we may, be serious where we can,
But vindicate the ways of God to man .
 86

LECTURE IV .
The same Subject continued .

In our preceding study we commenced a general

survey of the chief opinions and hypotheses that
have been urged in different periods upon the
important subject of Human Understanding ;
and, opening our career with the Greek schools,
we closed it with that of Des Cartes.
Des Cartes, who was born in 1596 , was for
nearly a century the Aristotle of his age ; and
although from his. very outset he was opposed
by his contemporaries and literary friends Gas

triumph, and steadily supported his ascendant,

till the physical philosophy of Newton , and the
metaphysical of Locke, threw an eclipse over
his glory, from which he has now no chance of
ever recovering .
Nothing , however, can prove more effectually

losophy as well as upon dress, than a glance at

the very opposite characters by whom the Car
tesian system was at one and the same time
principally professed and defended - Male .
branche and Spinosa , Leibnitz and Bayle. It
would , perhaps, be impossible, were we to range
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING . 87

through the whole scope of philosophical or even

of literary biography, to collect a more motley
and heterogeneous group ; the four elements of
hot, cold ,moist, and dry , can not possibly present
a stronger contrast ; amystical Catholic , a Jewish
materialist, a speculative but steady Lutheran ,
and an universal sceptic.
It was only, however, for want of a simpler
and more rational system , that Des Cartes con
tinued so long and so extensively to govern the
metaphysical taste of the day. That system was
at length given to the world by Mr. Locke, and
the “ PRINCIPIA PHILOSOPHIÆ " fell prostrate
before the “ Essay CONCERNING HUMAN UNDER
STANDING ."
This imperishable work made its first appear
ance in 1689 : it may, perhaps, be somewhat too
long ; it may occasionally embrace subjects
which are not necessarily connected with it ; its
termsmay not alwaysbe precise, nor its opinions
in every instance correct ; but it discovers in
trinsic and most convincing evidence that the
man who wrote it must have had a head pecu . .
liarly clear and a heart peculiarly sound . It is
strictly original in its matter, highly important
in its subject, luminous and forcible in its argu
ment, perspicuous in its style, and comprehen
sive in its scope. It steers equally clear of all
former systems : wehave nothing of the mystical
archetypes of Plato, the incorporeal phantoms
of Aristotle , or the material species of Epicurus ;
we are equally without the intelligible world of
 G
TANDIN
88 ON HUMAN UNDERS .

the Greek schools, and the innate ideas of Des

Cartes. Passing by all which , from actual ex
perience and observation it delineates the fea
tures, and describes the operations of the human
mind , with a degree of precision and minuteness
which have never been exhibited either before or
since.* “ Nothing,” says Dr.Beattie ,and I readily
avail myself of the acknowledgment of a honest
and enlightened antagonist, “ was further from
the intention of Locke than to encourage verbal
controversy, or advance doctrines favourable to
scepticism . To do good tomankind by enforcing
virtue, illustrating truth , and vindicating liberty,
was his sincere purpose . His writings are to be
reckoned among the few books that have been
productive of real utility to mankind .” †
To take this work as a text-book, of which,
however, it is well worthy, would require a long
life instead of a short lecture : and I shall,
hence, beg leave to submit to you only a very
brief summary of themore important part of its
system and of the more prominent opinions it
inculcates, especially in respect to the powers
and process of the mind in acquiring knowledge.
The work consists of four divisions, the first of
which , · however, is merely introductory, and
intended to clear the ground of thatmultitude
of strong and deep -rooted weeds at which we
have already glanced, and which, under the

* Stud. of Med. Vol. iii. p .49. 2d edit.

. + Essay on Truth , Part ii. ch. ii. $ 2.
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING . 89

scholastic name of præcognita , innate ideas,

maxims, and dictates, or innate speculative and
practical principles, prevented the growth of a
better harvest ; and, to a certain extent, super
seded the necessity of reason , education, and
revelation , of national institutions and Bible
ieties;; by
societies by tteaching c
e of self orthatoniau true
of reand
lig correct
notion of God, of self or consciousness, of virtue
and vice, and consequently of religious and
moral duties, is imprinted by nature on the mind
of every man ; and that we cannot transgress the
law thus originally implanted within us without
exposing ourselves to the lash of our own con
sciences. Discarding for ever all this jargon of
the schools, the Essay before us proceeds in its
three remaining parts to treatof IDEAS, which,
in the popular, and not the scholastic, sense of
the term , are the elements of knowledge ; of
words, which are the signs of ideas, and conse
quently the circulating medium of knowledge ;
and of KNOWLEDGE itself, which is the subject
proposed and the great end to be acquired.
The whole of the preceding rubbish, then ,
being in this manner cleared away, the elaborate
author proceeds to represent to us the body and
mind as equally at birth a tabula rasa , or un
written sheet of paper : as consisting equally of
a blank or vacuity of impressions, but as equally
capable of acquiring impressions by the oper
ation of external objects, and equally and most
skilfully endowed with distinct powers or facul
ties for this purpose ; those of the body being
90 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING .

being the external senses of sight, hearing, smell,

taste, and touch ; and those of the mind the
internal senses of perception , reason , judgment,
imagination, and memory. *
It is possible that a few slight impressions may
be produced a short time antecedently to birth ;
and it is certain that various instinctive tenden
cies, which , however, have no connection with
the mind , are more perfect, because more need
ful, at the period of birth than ever afterwards ;
and we have also frequent proofs of an here,
ditary or accidental predisposition towards par
ticular subjects. But the fundamental doctrine
before us is by no means affected by such
collateral circumstances ; to the correctness of
which our most eminent logicians of later times
have given their entire suffrage. Thus Bishop
Butler , and it is not necessary to go farther than
this eminent casuist : - " In these respects,"
meaning those before us, “ mankind is left by
nature an unformed , unfinished creature, utterly
deficient and unqualified before the acquirement
of knowledge, experience, and habits, for that
mature state of life which was the end of his
creation , considering him as related only to this
world
W . The faculty of reason is the candle of
the Lord within us ; though it can afford no light
* An abstract of this view of Mr. Locke's system , abbre
viated for the occasion, the Author found himself called
upon to introduce into his Study of Medicine. — Vol. iv. .
p. 50 - 55. 2d edit. 1825 .
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING . 91

where it does not shine, nor judge where it has

no principles to judge upon.” *
External objects first impress or operate upon
the outward senses, and these senses, by means
hitherto unexplained , and, perhaps, altogether
inexplicable, immediately impress or operate
upon the mind, or excite in it perceptions or
ideas of the presence and qualities of such
objects ; the word idea being employed in
the system before us, not, as we have already
hinted at, in any of the significations of the
schools, but in its broad and popular meaning, as
importing " whatever a man observes and is con
scious to himself he has in his mind t ;" whatever
was formerly intended by the terms archetype,
phantasm , species, thought, notion, conception ,
or whatever else it may be, which we can be
employed about in thinking. I And to these
effects, without puzzling himself with the inquiry
how external objects operate upon the senses,
or the senses upon the mind, Mr. Locke gave
the name of ideas of SENSATION, in allusion to
the source from which they are derived.
But the mind, as we have already observed,
S

has various powers or faculties as well as the

body ; and they are quite as active and lively in
their respective functions. In consequence of
which the ideas of external objects are not only
perceived, but retained , thought of, compared ,
* Analogy of Religion , Natural and Revealed, Part i.
ch. v . Part ii. Conclusion.
+ Locke, Book i. ch .i. $ 3. # Ib. $ 8 .
 92 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING .

compounded, abstracted, doubted, believed, de

sired ; and hence another fountain , and of a very
capacious flow , from which we also derive ideas
namely , a reflex act or perception of the mind 's
own operations; whence the ideas derived from
this fountain are denominated ideas of RE
FLEXION .
The ideas, then , derived from these two sources,
and which have sometimes been called . OBJEC
TIVE and SUBJECTIVE * , constitute all our expe
rience, and consequently all our knowledge.
Whatever stock of information a man may be
possest of, however richly he may be stored with
taste, learning, or science, if he turn his atten
tion inwards and diligently examine his own
thoughts, he will find that he has not a single
idea in his mind but what has been derived from
the one or the other of these two channels.
But let not this important observation be for
gotten by any one ; that the ideas the mind
* « On appelle , dans la philosophie Allemande, idées sub
jectives celles que naissent de la nature de notre intelligence
et de ses facultés, et idées objectives toutes cell es que sont
excitées par les sensations.” — Mad. de Staël Holstein , de
l'Allemagne, tom . iii. p. 76 .
Mad. de Staël, however, has fallen into the common error
of the French philosophers, from whom she appears to have
generally informed lierself of the principles of Locke's sys
tem , in supposing that he derived all ideas from sensation .
“ A l'époque où parut la Critique dela Raison pure,iln 'existoit
que deux systêmes sur l'entendement humain parmi les
penseurs ; l'une, celui de Locke, attribuoit toutes nos idées à
nos sensations ; l'autre, celui de Descartes et de Leibnitz ,
s'attachoit à démontrer la spiritualité et l'activité de l'âme,
de libre arbitre , enfin toute la doctrine idéaliste." - Id. p . 70 .
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING . 93
possesses will be fewer or more numerous, sim
pler or more diversified, clear or confused, ac
cording to the number of the objects or subjects
presented to it, and the extent of its reflection
and examination . Thus, a clock or a landscape
may be for ever before our eyes, but unless we
direct our attention to them , and study their
different parts, although we cannot be deceived
in their being a clock or a landscape, we can
have but a very confused idea of their character
and composition . The ideas presented to the
mind, from which of these two sources soever
derived, or in other words, whether objective
or subjective, are of two kinds, SIMPLE and
COMPLEX.
SIMPLE IDEAS consist of such as are limited
to a single notion or perception ; as those of
unity , darkness, light, sound, hardness, sweet
ness, simple pain or uneasiness. And in the
reception of these the mind is passive, for it
can neither make them to itself, nor can it, in
any instance, have any idea which does not
wholly consist of them ; or, in other words, it
cannot contemplate any one of them otherwise
than in its totality . Thus, on looking at this
single sheet of paper, I have the idea of unity ;
and though I may divide the single sheet of
paper into twenty parts , I cannot divide the
idea of unity into twenty parts ; for the idea of
unity will and must as wholly accompany every
part as it accompanies the collective sheet. And
the same remark will apply to all the rest.
94 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING .

COMPLEX IDEAS are formed out of various

simple ideasassociated together, or contemplated
derivatively . And to this class belong the ideas
of an army, a battle , a triangle, gratitude, vener
ation , gold, silver, an apple , an orange : in the
formation of all which it must be obvious that
the mind is active, for it is the activity of the
mind alone that produces the complexity out of
such ideas as are simple . And that the ideas I
have now referred to are complex must be plain
to every one ; for every one must be sensible
that the mind cannot form to itself the idea of
an orange without uniting into one aggregate
the simple ideas of roundness, yellowness, juici
ness, and sweetness. In like manner, in con
templating the idea of gold , there must neces
sarily be present to the mind, and in a complex
or aggregate form , the ideas of great weight,
solidity , yellowness, lustre ; and if the idea be
very accurate , great malleability and fusibility .
Complex ideas are formed out of simple ideas
by many operations of the mind ; the principal
of which , however, are some combination of
them , some abstraction , or some comparison.
Let us take a view of each of these : - .
And, first, of complex ideas of COMBINATION.
Unity , as I have already observed , is a simple
idea ; and it is one of the most common simple
ideas that can be presented to the mind, for
every object without, and every idea within ,
tend equally to excite it. And, as being a simple
idea , the mind, as I have also remarked, is pas..
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING . 95

sive on its presentation ; it can neither form

such an idea to itself, nor contemplate it other
wise than in its totality : but it can combine the
ideas of as many units as its pleases, and hence
produce the complex idea of a hundred, a thou
sand , or a hundred thousand. So beauty is a
complex idea, for the mind , in forming it, com
bines a variety of separate ideas into one common
aggregate. Thus Dryden , in delineating the
beautiful Victoria , in his “ Love Triumphant: "

Her eyes,her lips,her cheeks, her shape, her features,

Seem to be drawn by Love's own hand ; by Love
Himself in love.

In likemanner the mind can produce complex

ideas by an opposite process, and that is, by
ABSTRACTION, or separation . Thus chalk , snow ,
and milk , though agreeing, perhaps, in no other
respect, coincide in the same colour ; and the
mind, contemplating this agreement, may ab
stract or separate it from the other properties of
these three objects , and form the idea which is
indicated by the term whiteness ; and having
thus acquired a new idea by the process of ab
straction, it may afterwards apply it as a cha
racter to a variety of other objects : and hence
particular ideas become general or universal.
Other complex ideas are produced by COM
PARISON.
PAR Thus, if the mind take one idea, as
that of a foot, as a determinate measure, and
place it by the side of another idea, as the idea
of a table, the result will be a formation of the
 NG
S TANDI
96 ON HUMAN UNDER .

complex idea of length , breadth , and thickness.

Or if we vary the primary ideas, we may obtain
as a result, the secondary ideas of coarseness and
arseness

fineness.
And hence complex ideas must be almost in
finitely more numerous than simple ideas, which
are their elements or materials, as wordsmust
be always far more numerous than letters. I
have instanced only a few of their principal
kinds ; but even each of these kinds is applic
able to a variety of subjects, of which Mr. Locke
mentions the three following :
I. IDEAS of SUBSTANCES ; or such as we have
uniformly found connected in the same thing,
and withoutwhich , therefore, such thing cannot
be contemplated . To this head belong the
complex ideas of a man, a horse, a river, a moun
tain .
II. Ideas of Modes ; or such as may be con
sidered as representative of the mere affections,
or properties of substance ; of which the idea
of number may once more be offered as an ex
ample : the ideas of expansion or extension and
duration belong to the same stock ; and in like
manner those of power, time, space, and infi
nity , which are all modes, properties, or affec
tions of substance ; or secondary ideas derived
nav
from or excited by the primary idea of substance
of some kind or other.
III, IDEAS of RELATIONS ; which are by far ·
the most extensive, if not the most important,
branch of subjects from which our complex
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING . 97
ideas are derived ; for there is nothing what
ever, whether simple idea, substance, mode,
relation, or even the nameof any of them , which
is not capable of an almost infinite number of
bearings in reference or relation to other
things. It is from this source, therefore,
that we derive a very large proportion of our
thoughts and words. As examples under it, I
may mention all those ideas that relate to or are
even imported by the terms father, brother, son,
master, magistrate, younger, older, cause and
effect, right and wrong, and consequently all
moral relations.
It must hence appear obvious that many of
our ideas have a NATURAL CORRESPONDENCE, con
gruity , and connexion with each other. And
as many, perhaps, on the contrary, a NATURAL
REPUGNANCY, incongruity , and disconnexion .
Thus if I were to speak of a cold fire, I should
put together ideas that are naturally discon
nected and incongruous, and should consequently
make an absurd proposition, or, to adopt common
language, talk nonsense. I should be guilty of
the same blunder if I were to speak of a square
billiard -ball, or a soft reposing rock . But a warm
fire, on the contrary, a white, or even a black
billiard-ball, and a hard , rugged rock, are con
gruous ideas, and consequently consistent with
good sense. Now it is the direct office of that
discursive faculty of the mind which we call
reason , to trace out these natural coincidences
or disjunctions, and to connect or separate them
VOL. III. H
 A NDING
98 ON HUMAN UNDERST .

by proper relations. For it is a just perception

of the natural connexion and congruity, or of
the natural repugnancy and incongruity of our
ideas, that constitutes all real knowledge. The
wise man is he who has industriously laid in and
carefully assorted an extensive stock of ideas ; as
the stupid or ignorant man is he who, from natu
ral hebetude,or having had but few opportunities,
has collected and arranged but a small number.
The man who discovers the natural relations of
his ideas quickly is a man of sagacity ; and, in
popular language, is said , and correctly so, to
possess a quick , sharp intellect. The man, on the
contrary, who discovers these relations slowly,
we call dull or heavy . If he rapidly discover
and put together relations that lie remote, and
perhaps touch only in a few points, but those
points striking and pleasant, he is a man of wit,
genius, or brilliant fancy ; of agreeable allusion
and metaphor. If he connect ideas of fancy
with ideas of reality, and mistake the one for
the other , however numerous his ideas may be,
and whatever their order of succession , he is a
madman : he reasons from false principles; and,
as we say in popular language, and with perfect
correctness, is out of his judgment.
· Finally , our ideas are very apt to ASSOCIATE
or run together in trains ; and upon this peculiar
and happy disposition of the mind we lay our
chief dependence in sowing the important seeds
of education. It often happens, however, that
some of our ideas have been associated erro.
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING . 99

neously, and even in a state of early life, before

education has commenced : and hence, from the
difficulty of separating them , most of the sym
pathies and antipathies, the whims and preju
dices that occasionally haunt us to the latest
period of old age. Peter the Great, having been
terrified by a fall into a sheet of water when an
infant, could never till he became a man , go
over a bridge without shuddering ; and even at
last had no small difficulty in breaking the con
nection of the ideas that were thus early and
powerfully associated. Avarice did not by any
kind of predisposition belong to themiser Elwes,
for in his youth he was of gay manners, and a
spendthrift ; but he caught the vice by living
with his uncle : uninterrupted habit, the strong
power of association , gave strength to its influ
ence, and what was originally his abhorrence
became at length his idol.
Such , then , is the manner in which the mind ,
at first a sheet of white paper, without charac
ters of any kind, becomes furnished with that vast
store of ideas, the materials of wisdom and
knowledge, which the busy and boundless fancy
of man has painted on it with an almost endless
variety . The whole is derived from experience
- THE EXPERIENCE OF SENSATION OR REFLEC
TION ; from the observations of the mind em .
ployed either about external sensible objects, or
the internal operations of itself, perceived and
reflected upon by its own faculties.
H 2 . . .
100 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING .

But man is a social as well as a rational being ;

he is dependent for the supply of his wants upon
his fellow man ; and his happiness is made to
consist in this dependence. The ideas he pos.
sesses he feels a desire of communicating , and
those possessed by others he feels an equal desire
of diving into . But ideas in themselves are
incommunicable ; he requires here, as in the
case of sensible objects, a circulating medium
by which their value may be expressed. And
what he requires is freely granted to him : it
consists in the high faculty of speech ; in re .
ducing ideas to articulate sounds or words, the
aggregate of which constitutes language. And
hence the great and valuable systematic work to
which I have now chiefly directed your attention,
proceeds from a general analysis of our ideas to
a general analysis of their vocal representatives :
a subject which every one must perceive to be
of the utmost importance in the progress of
buman understanding Important, however , as
it is, it is a subject rather collateral than direct,
We have briefly glanced at it already * , and may
perhaps return to it hereafter, but I shall post
pone it for the present, that wemay hasten with
dye speed to the goal before us. Allow me,
however, before we quit it, to observe that words
bear precisely the same relation to ideas that
ideas do to objects ; for as ideas are the mere
signs of objeets, so words are the mere signs of
* Vol. II. Ser. Ik Lect. VIII. IX . X .
 ON HUMÁN UNDERSTANDING . 101

ideas ; and hence that every rule which applies

to the variety, precision, and arrangement of
our ideas, applies with equal force to the variétý,
precision , and arrangement of our words ; and
that without a clear and determinate meaning to
the latter, we can no more have a clear and
determinate apprehension of the former than we
can have of a person 's features by à confused or
unlike picture. And hence the importance of
attending to our vocabulary of minutely mea
suring and weighing the terms we make use of,
so as to adjust them exactly to themeasure and
weight of our ideas, must be obvious at the first
glance ; as it must be also that the more exact
and copious a language is found, the more clear
and comprehensive must be the general know
ledge of the nation to which it belongs.
But ideas and words, though the materials of
which knowledge is constructed, and without
which it cannot among mankind be constructed
at all, are no more knowledge itself than the
bricks and mortar of a house are the house itself.
Both , as I have indeed hinted at already, must be
collected in sufficient abundance, compared with
each other, duly assorted, arranged and united
together, before the proper building can be pro
duced ; and we have yet, therefore, to contem
plate the most important part of the subject
before us, and that to which the preceding parts
are subservient - - the general nature of know
ledge, its kinds, degrees and reality. .
H 3
102 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING .

* KNOWLEDGE may be defined the PERCEPTION

OF TRUTH , or in the language of Aristole, THE
SCIENCE OF TRUTH : and consequently he who
acquires knowledge, perceives or acquires truth .
But what is truth ? This is a question which
has been asked for ages : the particular answer,
however,must necessarily depend upon the par
ticular şubject to which it refers. Weare now
considering general truth , which may be defined
the connexion and agreement, or repugnancy
and disagreement, of our ideas.
This definition requires some attention ; but
when it is thoroughly comprehended, it will be
found to apply to truths of every kind, in the
arts, physics, and morals, as well as in meta
physics ; for the law of adjustment, of con
nexion and disconnexion, of congruity and in
congruity it refers to, is an universal law or
constitution of nature , and hence must hold
equally every where. Thus in a building, where
the different parts of which it consists perfectly
agree , the lines accurately correspond , and the
dependencies fit and are proportioned to each
other'; every part is TRUE to every part, and the
whole is TRUE to itself.
So in working a mathematical problem , or
determining a fact from circumstantial evidence,
every separate link or idea that constitutes a
part of the general chain , must have its proper
connexion or agreement with the link or idea
that lies next to it, as well above as below : for
it is these connexions or agreements between
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING . 103

one idea and another that constitute the proofs,

and a failure in any onedestroys our knowledge
upon the subject ; or, in other words, prevents
us from perceiving its truth . .
· It sometimes happens that we are able to dis
cover at once this agreement or disagreement,
this connexion or repugnancy, in the ideas that
are presented to us ; and in such case our know
ledge is instantaneous, and constitutes what we
call INTUITION or INTUITIVE KNOWLEDGE. But
it happens far more generally that the agree
ment or disagreement is by no means obvious ;
and we are obliged, as in the case of circum
stantial evidence, to look out for some inter
mediate idea , which the schools denominate a
medius terminus, by which the separate ideas
may be united . To make this research is the
peculiar province of the discursive faculty of
reason ; and hence the information thus ob
tained is called RATIONAL KNOWLEDGE . con
· Let us take a brief view of both these. When
I affirm that white is not black ; or, which is a
proposition of the same kind, that white is
white, and black is black, I affirm what I know
intuitively. The colours of white and of black
have excited ideas in mymind, which , whenever
they occur, must be identic and true to them
selves ; for it is not possible for me to have any
other idea of white than white , or of black than
black ': the agreement in this case is the AGREE
MENT OF IDENTITY, the agreement of either idea
with itself ; and hence the man who asks me to
H 4
104 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING .

prove that white is white , or that white is not

black, or red , or yellow , asks me to prove what I
neither can prove nor want to prove. I do not
want to prove it, for I know it with certain
knowledge, or, in other words, it is SELF-EVIDENT.
And I cannot prove it for this reason ; that every
proof consists in placing between two ideas that
we want to unite together by an agreement
which we do not perceive, an idea whose
agreement with both of them is more obvious.
But what idea can I place by the side of the
idea of white , of black , of red, or of yellow ,
that can agree more fully with either of these
ideas, than such ideas agree with themselves ?
Every one must see that there is no such idea to
be had ; and consequently that I can neither
offer a proof nor want one. And the very at
tempt to obtain such a proof would be an ab
surdity : for could it possibly be acquired, it
would not add to my knowledge, which is per
fect and certain already, and depends upon the
constant agreement of the idea with itself, -
the agreement of identity.
Nothing has been productive ofmore mischief
in the science of metaphysics than this absurd
restlessness in seeking after proofs in cases of
intuition , where no proofs are to be. had , and .
the knowledge is certain without them . M . Des
Cartes' hypothesis, as I had occasion to notice
in our last lecture , commences with an instance
of this very absurdity , and it has proved the
ruin of it ; and the same attempt in various
Tull

22
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING . 105

other hypotheses of later date that we shall yet

have to touch upon , and particularly those of
Bishop Berkeley and Mr. Hume, has equally
proved the ruin of these. When I affirm that I
am , I affirm that of which I have an intuitive
knowledge : and when I affirm that I think, I
only make a proposition of the same kind . The
connection between the two ideas I am , and
the two ideas I think , is a connexion of co
existence or absolute necessity . It is not pos
sible to separate them , and they wantno third or
intervening idea to unite them ; for if it were pos
sible for me to doubt whether I thought, or whe
ther I existed, the very doubt itself would answer
the purpose of a proof in either case. Now one
of the chief absurdities of M . Des Cartes' argu
ment, I think, therefore I am , consists in his
putting two propositions equally self-evidentand
intuitive, by the side of each other, and making
the first the proof of the second. For being equally
intuitive, the second must be just as good a
proof of the first as the first is of the second ;
since the mind can no more put together the
two ideas I am without thinking, than it can
put together the two ideas I think , without
being. But nothing is gained by their being put
together in the way of proof or demonstration ,
for I have no more evidence of my existence by
calling up the ideas, I think , than I had before
this proposition was conceived. And hence the
attempt not only fails, but could lead to no use
if it could stand its ground.
 106 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING .

Our knowledge of personal identity is--de

rived from the same source. It is INTUITIVE.
This is a subject which has excited a great dael
of learned controversy, and called forth many
a different proof, or attempt at proof, from the dif
ferent disputants who have engaged in it. Mr.
Locke himself, with a singular deviation from
the principles of his own system , has fallen into
a common error, and offered as a proof the idea
of consciousness. No proof, however, or at
tempt at proof, is more imperfect ; for the iden
tity often continues when the consciousness is
interrupted , as in sleep without dreaming, in
apoplexy, catalepsy, drowning, and various
other cases : and hence if identity were depend
ent on consciousness, the same man in a dead
sleep and out of it would be two or more dif.
ferent persons. The truth is, that our know
ledge of identity is intuitive ; the two ideas
I am , and the two ideas I was, a combin
ation of which constitutes the more complex
idea of personal identity, are ideas of necessary
connexion from the first moment the con
nexion can be formed : and hence they produce
certain knowledge , and can have no proof;
since there can be no intermediate idea capable
of possessing a closer connexion with either
proposition , and consequently fitted to enter be
tween them . “ Here then ,” to adopt the lan
guage of Bishop Butler, whose reasoning upon
this subject, bears a close resemblance to the
present, " we can go no further. For it is ridi
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING . 107
culous to attempt to prove the truth of those
perceptions whose truth we can no otherwise
prove than by other perceptions of exactly the
same kind with them , and which there is just
the same ground to suspect; or to attempt to
prove the truth of our faculties, which can no
otherwise be proved than by the use or means
of those very suspected faculties themselves.*
I may now advance a step further, and ob
serve that in all cases in which the agreement
or 'disagreement of two or more ideas can be
immediately perceived and compared together,
our knowledge is of a like kind, and con
sequently approaches to intuitive ; although to
other persons such ideas may be very remote,
and require a long chain of intermediate ideas
to connect or separate them , or prove their
agreement or repugnancy. Thus I know in
tuitively, or without going through the process,
that the arc of a circle is less than the entire
circle ; that a circle itself is a line equidistant in
every part of it from its centre ; that the three
angles of a triangle are equal to two right an.
gles; that the square of four is sixteen. Noman,
however , can perhaps have any kind of know
ledge at first sight upon any of these subjects ;
he cannot putthe extreme ideas together in such
a manner as to perceive their agreement or dis
agreement, and he is not acquainted with the

* Analogy of Religion , Natural and Revealed . Of

Personal Identity , forming Diss. I.
108 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING .

intermediate ideas which are to compare them ,

and prove their relation . If he could perceive
that relation at first sight, he would at first sight
have intuitive knowledge upon the subject ; and
some persons have a much more comprehensive
power of this kind than others ; for they can
perceive and compare the relations of ideas both
'more readily and more extensively . Euler was
a striking example of this endowment, in regard
to the science of abstract quantities: Jedediah
Buxton appears to have obtained a similar de
gree of intuitive knowledge in regard to the
science of numbers ; and we seem in our own
day to have another instance of the same kind
in the very extraordinary young calculator from
America, not more than eight years old .*
I have already stated , that when we cannot im .
mediately perceive the agreement or disagreement
of two or more ideas, which we are desirous of
bringing into comparison, we are obliged to
seek out for some intervening idea whose agree
ment or disagreement with them is obvious to
us ; and I have also stated, that as this general
search is the immediate office of the faculty of
reason, the knowledge thus obtained is called
RATIONAL KNOWLEDGE . In many cases we are
so fortunate as to hit upon intervening ideas

* See “ Some account of Zerah Colburn , an American

child , who possesses some very remarkable powers of solv
ing questions in arithmetic , by computation,without writing ,
or any visible contrivance." - Nicholson's Journal of Nat.
Phil. vol.xxxiv. p . 5 .
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING , 109
whose connexion with the one, the other, or
both , as in a chain of perfect evidence , is clear
and distinct ; and in such case, whether the
reasoning consist of a single step or of many, as
soon as the mind is able to perceive the con
nexion or repugnancy, the agreement or dis
agreement of the ideas in question, the degree
of rational knowledge hereby obtained becomes
equal or nearly so to INTUITION , and is called
DEMONSTRATION . If the proofs or intervening
ideas do not quite amount to this, we have neces.
sarily an inferior degree of rational knowledge,
and we distinguish it by the name of BELIEF,
ASS
ASSENT, or OPINION ; and according to the
nature of the proofs or intermediate ideas, as
decided by the faculty of the judgment, the
opinion is rendered INDUBITABLE , PROBABLE,
CONJECTURAL, or susPICIOUS,
It is upon this comparison of two ideas, by
means of amediate idea expressed or understood,
that most of our moral information or common
knowledgewould be found to depend, if we were :
to analyze it. Thus, on going into the street and
hearing a man whom I am acquainted with ,
asking which is the way to London Bridge, Į
may perhaps observe to a by- stander, “ That man
ought to know the way." The by-stander im
mediately compares the two ideas of going to
London Bridge, and the man 's right to know
the way, but can find no connexion or agree
ment between them , and consequently is ig .
norant of what I mean . He applies to me,
 110 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING .
therefore, for the intermediate idea by the ques
tion “ Why so ?” and I give it to him by answer
ing, “ Because he has repeatedly been the same
road before :” and although he does not put the
three ideas into the measured form of the schools,
which is called a syllogism , every one as regularly
passes through his mind , and gives him the same
satisfactory information as if they were to assume
such order ; in which case they would perhaps
run as follows :
Every man who goes repeatedly the same road should
know his way :
This man has been repeatedly the same road :
Therefore this man should know his way.
It would be absurd to introduce this part of
logical analysis into common discourse : but it is
of high use in the closet, as teaching us precision ,
by compelling us to measure the force and value
of every idea and word of which a proposition
consists. We are indebted to Aristotle for its in .
vention : and though it was at one time carried
to an absurd excess, it has of late years been far
too generally discontinued.
The connective or intermediate idea is not
always expressed either in speaking or writing ;
and hence is not always obvious to the hearer or
reader, though it is, or ought to be, so to the
framer of the argument. Let me exercise the
ingenuity of the audience before me by throw
ing out as a trial, the following well-known sen
timent of Mr. Pope:
Who governs freemen should himself be free .
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING . 111.

Here are two distinct propositions; and Dr.

Johnson, not immediately perceiving their agree
ment, nor immediately hitting upon any inter
vening idea or proposition by which they might
be united, declared the whole to be a riddle,
and that the poet might just as well have written ,
Who drives fat oxen should himself be fat.
Had Johnson , however, lived in our own day,
and turned his attention to the Continent, it
would have been a riddle to him no longer ; for
he would have called to mind, as I doubt not
every one before me has done already, the mis
chief that has happened to many a free people
on the Continent, from the unfortunate want of
freedom in the sovereign who is placed over
them , and his being under the detestable con
trol of one of the worst, and, unluckily, one
of the most universal, tyrants the world has ever
witnessed . * Hewould have been , as every one
before me must be, at once prepared to have
connected the two ideas of free men, - and the
propriety of their being governed by a free sove.
reign, by means of a third or intervening idea
to this effect, that otherwise the people them
selves might run no small risk of having their
freedom destroyed by foreign force ; the whole
of which might assume the following appearance
if reduced to the form of a syllogism :

* Napoleon Bonaparte. This lecture was delivered in

1814 .
112 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING ,

Who governs free-men should be able to maintain their

freedom :
But he who is not free himself is not able to maintain
their freedom :

Therefore ,
Who governs freemen should himself be free .
PROPER or REAL KNOWLEDGE, then, is of two
kinds or degrees, INTUITION and DEMONSTRA
TION ; below which, all the information we pos
sess is imperfect knowledge or OPINION. Mr.
Locke, nevertheless , out of courtesy to the Car
tesian hypothesis, rather than from any other
cause, makes proper or real knowledge to con
sist of three degrees, placing sensible knowledge,
or that obtained by an exercise of the external
senses, below the two degrees of intuition and
demonstration, though above the authority of
opinion. In most instances, however, the ideas
we obtain from the senses are as clear and as
identic as those obtained from any other source :
and in all such cases the knowledge they pro
duce is self-evident or intuitive. And although ,
at times, the idea excited by a single sense may
not be perfectly clear, yet, as we usually correct
it, or destroy the doubt which accompanies it by
having recourse to another sense, which fur
nishes us with the proof or intermediate idea,
the knowledge obtained , even in these cases,
though not amounting to intuition, is of the
nature of demonstration : whence all sensible
knowledge (the organs of sense being in them
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING. 113
selves perfect, and the objects fully within their
scope,) falls, if I mistake not, under the one or
the other of these two divisions.
• DEMONSTRATIVE KNOWLEDGE, where the inter
vening proofs or ideas perform their part per
fectly , approaches, as I have already observed,
to the certainty of intuition . But it has gene
rally been held that this kind of demonstration
can only take place in the science of mathe
matics, or, in other words, in ideas of number,
extension, and figure. I coincide, however,
completely with Mr. Locke, in believing that
the knowledge afforded by physics may not un
frequently be as certain . I have already stated
that the knowledge we possess of our own exist
ence is INTUITIVE. Our knowledge of the exist.
TIY

ence of a God is, on the contrary, DEMONSTRA

TIVE. Examine, then, the proofs of this latter
knowledge, and see whether it be less certain .
Am I asked where proofs to this effect are to be
found ? On every side they press upon us in
clusters. - I cannot, indeed, follow them up
at the present moment, for it would require a
folio volume instead of the close of a single lec
ture ; and Imerely throw out the hint that you
may pursue it at home. But this I may ven
ture to say, that whatever cluster we take, it
will develope to us a certain proof, and , in its
separate value, fall but little short of the force
of self-evidence. If I ascend into heaven he
is there ; in peerless splendour, in ineffable
VOL. III.
114 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING ,

majesty ; diffusing, from an inexhaustible foun

tain , themighty tide of light, and life, and love,
from world to world , and from system to system .
If I descend into the grave he is there also ;
still actively and manifestly employed in the
samebenevolent pursuit : still, though in a dif
ferent manner, promoting the calm but unceas
ing career of vitality and happiness ; harmo
niously leading on the silent circle of decompo
sition and re -organization ; fructifying the cold
and gloomy regions of the tomb ; rendering
death itself the mysterious source of reproduc
tion and new existence ; and thus literally mak
ing the “ dry bones live,” and the “ dead sing
praises" to his name. If I examine the world
withoutme, or the world within me, I trace him
equally to a demonstration : - I feel, — nay,
more than feel, - I know him to be eternal, om
niscient, omnipotent, the creator of all things,
and therefore God . I discover him , not by the
vain maxims of tradition, or the visionary con
ceit of innate principles, but by the faculty with
which he has expressly endowed me to search
for him , — by my reason . Theremay, perhaps,
be some persons, as well learned as unlearned ,
who have never brought together these proofs
of his existence, and are therefore ignorant of
him ; as there certainly are others, who have
never brought together the proofs that the three
angles of a triangle are equal to two right
angles, and are therefore ignorant of geome
 ON HUMAN UNDERSTANDING . 115

try : but both facts have a like truth and a

like foundation : both flow from and return to
the same fountain : for God is the author of
every truth , for God is truth itself.

I 2
 . .. 116 .

LECTURE V .
ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS.

From a system that is simple, intelligible, and

satisfactory, adapted to the condition of man,
and pregnant with useful instruction, we have
now to turn our attention to a variety of hypo
theses, that are scarcely in any instance worthy
of the name of systems, and which it is difficult
to describe otherwise than by reversing the
termswe have just employed , and characterising
them as complicated, unintelligible, unsatisfac
tory ; as not adapted to the condition of man , ,
and barren of useful instruction .
It is a distinguishing and praiseworthy feature
in the Essay on Human Understanding, that it
confines itself to the subject of human under
standing alone, and that in delineating the oper
ations of the mind , it neither enters into the
question of the substance of mind, or the sub
stance of matter ; neither amuses us with specu
lations how external objects communicate with
the senses, or the senses with the mental organ .
It builds altogether upon the sure foundation of
the simple fact, that the senses are influenced ,
and that they influence the mind ; and as, in
 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS, 117
the former case, it calls the cause of this influence
external objects, so in the latter case it calls the
effects it produces internal ideas. . Of the nature
of these objects it says little, but of their sub .
stantive existence ; of the nature of these ideas
it says little, but of their truth or exact corres,
pondence with the objects that excite them ; its
general view of the subjectbeing reducible to the
two following propositions : -
First, that as objects are perceivable at a dis
tance , and bodies cannot act where they are not,
it is evident that something must proceed from
them to produce impulse upon the senses, and
that the motion hereby excited must be thence
continued by the nerves, or connecting chain , to
the brain or seat of sensation, so as to produce in
our minds the particular ideas we have of them .*
• And, secondly , that the ideas thus produced ,
so far from being images or pictures of the ob
jects they represent, have no kind of resemblance
to them , except so far as relates to their real
qualities of solidity , extension, figure , motion , or
rest and number. t
Thus far, and thus far only , does the author of
the Essay on Human Understanding indulge in
a digression into physical science , and even for
this he feels it necessary to offer an apology to
his reader : “ I hope,” says he, “ I shall be par
doned this little excursion into natural philoso
phy, it being necessary in our present enquiry." I
* Essay on Hum . Underst. Book ii. ch . viii. $ 12.
+ Ibid . § 15. Ibid . $ 22.
13 .
118 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS.
For myself I am glad he did not proceed far
ther, and should have been still more satisfied if
he had not proceeded even so far ; for the sub
ject proves itself, even in his hands, to be inex
plicable ; and if he be here found to evince some
degree of obscurity , it is only, perhaps, because
it is not possible to avoid it. Of the PRIMARY
or real qualities of bodies, as he denominates
them , we know but little ; and it is probable,
that Mr. Locke has enumerated one or two un
der this head that do not properly belong to
the list. And although it is not difficult to de
termine his meaning where he asserts that their
ideas resemble them , as being drawn from pat
terns existing in the bodies themselves, the sense
of the passage has been very generally mistaken ,
and opinions have hence been ascribed to him
which are contrary to the whole tenour of his sys
tem . In consequence of being real represent
atives of real qualities, they resemble them in
respect to REALITY. And this, I think, seems
to be what Mr. Locke intended to express upon
this subject ; though he does not discover his
usual clearness as to what he designed to convey
by the term RESEMBLANCE. This view , however,
will be still more obvious by comparing the
seventh , ninth , and twenty-third sections of the
eighth chapter of his second book , in which he
asserts, that the secondary qualities of bodies,
as they are usually called , and which he con
trasts with the PRIMARY before us, have no real
existence in their respective bodies, and are
nothing more than powers instead of qualities .
 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS. 119

And hence, while the ideas of the PRIMARY

qualities of bodies are real representatives of
real qualities, and to this extent RESEMBLE them ,
the ideas of their SECONDARY qualities are only
real representatives of ostensible or imaginary
qualities, in regard at least to the subjects to
which they appear to belong, and consequently
have NOO RESEMBLAN
RESEMBLANCE to them whatever.
What, however, Locke thus modestly glanced
at, others, with all the confidence of the Greek
philosophers, have boldly plunged into ; and the
consequence has been that they have met with
the very same success as the Greek philosophers,
and revived the very same errors : - -- some hay
ing been bewildered into a disbelief of the soul,
others into a disbelief of the body, and others,
again , still more whimsically, into a disbelief of
both soul and body at the same time ; contend
ing not only thatthere is no such thing as a world
about them , but no such thing as themselves,
except at the very moment they start either this
or any other idea of equal brilliance.
.. We have already seen, that the ideas of the
mind have no resemblance whatever to the ex
ternal objects by which they are produced ; un
less in the case of the primary qualities of bodies,
in which, as just observed, the term resemblance
may be applied in a figurative sense, the only
sense, as I shall show more fully hereafter, in
which it was ever employed by Mr. Locke.
This is a fact so clear as to be admitted by
almost every school of philosophy. “ Between an
I 4
120 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS.

external object and an idea or thought of the

mind,” observes Dr. Beattie, “ there is not, there
cannot possibly be, any resemblance.” * So, in
continuation, “ a grain of sand and the globe of
the earth ; a burning coal, and a lump of ice ; a
drop of ink and a sheet of white paper, resemble
each other in being extended, solid , figured , co
loured, and divisible ; but a thought or idea has
no extension, solidity , figure, colour, or divisibi
lity : so that no two external objects can be so
unlike, as an external object, and (what philoso
phers call) the idea of it. ” To the same effect
Dr. Potterfield : “ How body acts upon mind,
or mind upon body, I know not ; but this I am
very certain of, that nothing can act or be acted
upon where it is not ; and therefore our mind
can never perceive any thing but its own modi
fications, and the various states of the sensorium
to which it is present. So that it is not the ex
ternal sun and moon which are in the heavens
that our mind perceives, but only their image or
representation impressed on the sensorium . How
the soul of a seeing man sees those images, or
how it receives those ideas from such agitations
in the sensorium , I know not. But I am sure
it can never perceive the external bodies them
selves, to which it is not present.”
· Now allowing this fact, it follows of inevitable
necessity, that the mind does not of itself per
ceive an external world ; even any thing resem

. * On Truth , part ii. ch .ii. p . 165.

 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS. 121

bling an external world , and we must take both

its existence and the nature of its existence upon
the evidence of our external senses. Such an
authority may perhaps seem tolerably sufficient
to most of my audience ; and I trust I shall be
able to prove, before we conclude, that the ex
ternal senses are as honest and as competent wit
nesses as any court of judicature can reasonably
desire . But it has somehow or other happened,
as we have already seen , that there have been a
few wise and grave men , and of great learning ,
talents, and moral excellence, in differentperiods
of the world , who have had a strange suspicion
of their competency ; and have hunted up facts
and arguments to prove that their evidence is not
worth a straw ; that, in some cases, they have
shown themselves egregious fools, and in others
arrant cheats ; that the testimony of one sense
often opposes the testimony of another sense ;
that what appears smooth to the eye appears
rough to the touch ; that we cannot always dis
tinguish a green from a blue colour ; and that
we sometimes feel great awe and solemnity be
neath a deep and growing sound, which we at
first take to be a clap of thunder, but afterwards
find to be nothing more than the rumbling of a
filthy cart ; that we mistake a phantasm , or
phantasmagoria , for a figure of flesh and blood ;
and occasionally see things just as clearly in our
dreams as when we are awake, though all the
world with which we have then any concern is a
world of mere ideas - -- a world of our own mak
122 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS .

ing, and altogether independent of the senses ;

and, consequently, thatit is possible the poet may
speak somewhat more literally than he intended ,
when he tells us
Weare such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep. *

This sort of reasoning, however, has not been

confined to modern times ; it was, as I have
already observed, the very argument of Arce
cilas, and the sceptics of theMIDDLE ACADEMY,
as it was called ; who, in consequence, contended
that there is no truth or solidity in any thing :
no such thing as certainty , or real knowledge ;
and that all genuine philosophy or wisdom con
sists in doubting. From a cause somewhat
similar, Pyrrho, as I have likewise remarked ,
seems to have carried his scepticism to a still
further extravagance, though a very excellent
man and enlightened philosopher in other re
spects : for he is said to have so far disbelieved
the real existence of every thing before him that
precipices were nothing ; the points of swords
and arrows were nothing ; the wheel of a car
riage that threatened to go over his own neck
was nothing. Insomuch that his friends, who
were not quite so far gone in philosophy,
thought it right to protect him against the effects
CEO
of his own principles, and either accompanied

* Tempest.
 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS. 123
him themselves or set a keeper over him under
the milder name of a disciple . It was in vain
that Plato pretended that the mind is loaded with
intellectual archetypes, or'the incorporeal ideas,
of all external objects ; Aristotle that it perceives
by immaterial phantasms; and Epicurus by real
species or effigies thrown forth from the objects
themselves : Pyrrho denied the whole of this
jargon , and contended that if it could even be
Ises
proved that the senses uniformly give a true
account of things, as far as their respective facul
ties extend, still we obtain no more real know
ledge of matter, of the substance that is said to
constitute the external world , than we do of the
perceptions that constitute our dreams. If, said
he, you affirm that matter consists of particles
that are infinitely divisible, you ascribe the at
tribute of infinity to every particle ; and hence
make a finite grain of sand consist of millions of
infinite atoms ; and such is the train of argument
of the atomic philosophers. While , on the con
trary, if you contend, with the atomists, that
matter has its ultimate atoms or primordial par
ticles, beyond which it is not possible to divide
and subdivide it, show me some of these par
ticles, and let those senses you appeal to become
the judges.
Such was the state of things under the Greek
philosophers : the existence of an external world
and its connection with the mind was supported ,
and supported alone, by fine-spun hypotheses,
that were perpetually proving their own fallacy;
124 · ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS.
and was denied or doubted of by sceptics who
were perpetually proving the absurdity of their
own doubts.
Des Cartes, as we have already observed,
thought, in his day, it was high time to remove
all doubt whatsoever, and to come to a proof
upon every thing ; and he zealously set to work
to this effect. In the ardour of his own mind
he had the fullest conviction of a triumph ; and
like a liberal antagonist he conceded to his
adversaries all they could desire. He allowed a
doubt upon every thing for the very purpose of
removing it by direct proofs. Hebegan , there
fore, as we have already seen, by doubting of
his own existence : and, as we have also seen ,
he made sad work of it in the proofs he attempted
to offer.
Having satisfied himself, however, upon this
point, he nextproceeded to prove the existence
of the world around him ; and, candidly follow
ing up the first principle he had laid down for
the regulation of his conduct, he was deter
mined to doubt of the evidence of the senses,
excepting so far as they could bring proof of
their correctness. But what proof had the senses
to offer ? The very notion of a proof, as I took
leave to observe in our last lecture, consists in
our obtaining a fact or an idea possessing a closer
agreement or connection with the thing to be
proved than the fact or idea that the mind first
perceives or is able to lay hold of. But what
ideas can more closely agree or be inore closely
 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS. 125

connected with an external world than the ideas

produced by the senses, by which alone the
mind perceives such world to exist ? These
are ideas of identity , of self-agreement ; and
consequently ideas, which , like that of conscious
ness, it is neither possible to doubt of or to prove.
They form , for the most part, a branch of in
tuitive knowledge, and we are compelled to
believe whether we will or not.
I say for the most part, for I am now speaking
of the common effect of external objects upon
the senses, and upon the mental organ. I am
ready to admit that, under particular circum
stances, the ideas they excite may not be per
fectly clear : we may be at too great a distance
from the object, or the sense of sight, smell,
taste , or touch , may be morbidly or accidentally
obtuse ; but in all these cases a sound mind is
just as conscious ofhaving ideas that are not clear,
as it is, under other circumstances, of having
distinct ideas. There is no iinposition whatever :
the mind equally knows that it has certain know
ledge in the latter instance, and that it has un
certain knowledge in the former. I mean if it
will exert itself to know by the exercise of its
own activity ; for otherwise it may as well mis
take in ideas that originate from itself as in those
that originate from the senses. And in the case
of its being conscious of an imperfect or indis
tinct idea, excited by one of the senses, what is
the step it pursues ? Thatwhich it uniformly
pursues in every other case of imperfect know
 126 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS .
ledge : it calls in the aid of an intermediate idea
by the exercise of another sense that is more
closely connected or more clearly agrees with
the idea that raises the question , and the faculty
of the judgment determines, as in every other
case . And here the knowledge, as I have already
hinted at on a former occasion , loses indeed its
intuitive character, and assumes, for the most
part, the demonstrative.

to obtain any proofs whatever ; and it being the

very preamble of his system that his doubts
should remain unless he could remove them by
proofs, the only device that seemed to afford him
a loop -hole to escape from his dilemma, was an
appeal to the veracity of the Creator. God , he
asserted, has imprinted on the mind innate ideas
of himself and of an external world , and though
the senses offer no demonstration of such à
world, it is completely furnished to us by these
internal ideas : the senses, indeed , may deceive,
butGod can be no deceiver. And hence what
appears to exist around us does exist. :
. The existence of an external world , therefore,
in the Cartesian philosophy is doubtful, so far
as depends upon the senses ; for the testimony
they offer is in itself doubtful. And hence it is
not upon the evidence of our eyes and our hands,
and our taste, smell, and hearing, that we are to
believe that there is any body or any thing
without us, but on the truth of those innate ideas
of a something without us which are supposed
 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS . 127

to be imprinted on the mind, in connection with

the veracity of the Creator who has imprinted
them .
· But here another stumbling-block occurred to
the progress of our philosophical castle-builder ;
and that was, the difficulty of determining, in re
gard to the number and extent of these innate
ideas. His friends Gassendi and Hobbes openly
denied that there were any such ideas whatever,
and put him upon his proofs, by which the whole
system would be to be commenced again from its
foundation ; while Malebranche, one of themost
zealous of all the disciples of Des Cartes, at the
same time that he contended for the general
doctrine of innate ideas, confessed that he had
some doubts whether they extended to the ex
istence of the world without us, or to any thing
but a knowledge of God and of our own being .
Although , in his opinioh , M . Des Cartes has
proved the existence of body by the strongest ar
guments that reason alone can furnish , and argu
ments which heseemsto suppose unexceptionable ;
yet he does not admit that they amount to a full
demonstration of the existence of matter . In
philosophy, says he, we ought to maintain our
liberty as long as we can , and to believe nothing
but what evidence compels us to believe. To be
fully convinced of the existence of bodies it is
necessary that we have it demonstrated to us,
not only that there is a God, and that he is no
deceiver, but also that God has assured us that
he has actually created such bodies , and this,
128 . ON ANCIENT, AND MODERN SCEPTICS.
continues Malebranche, “ I do not find proved in .
the works of M . Des Cartes. The faith obliges
us to believe that bodies exist, but as to the
evidence of this truth , it certainly is not com
plete ; and it is also certain that we are not in
vincibly determined to believe that any thing
exists but God and our own mind. It is true
that we have an EXTREME PROPENSITY to believe
that we are surrounded with corporeal beings :
so far I agree with M . Des Cartes : but this
propensity, natural as it is, does not force our
belief by evidence ; it only inclines us to believe
by impression . Now we ought not to be deter
mined in our judgments by any thing but light
and evidence : if we suffer ourselves to be guided
by the sensible impression, we shall be almost
always mistaken. ” * .
Thus stood the question when the very learned
and excellent Bishop of Cloyne, Dr.George
Berkeley, entered upon its investigation. For
Locke, as we have already seen , boldly over
leaped the Cartesian toll-gate of doubting, and
was content to take the knowledge of our own
existence upon the authority of intuition , that
of a God upon the authority of demonstration,
and that of external objects upon the authority
of our senses. Berkeley had minutely studied
the rival systems of Des Cartes and Locke.
With the latter he agreed , that there is no such
thing as innate ideas, and with the former, that

* Recherche de la Vérité, tom .ii, pp . 30 . 39.

 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS. 129
the creed of a philosopher should be founded
upon proof. But Locke had not proved the
existence of an external world : he had only
sent us to our senses, and had left the question
between ourselves and the evidence they offer ;
and though this is an evidence which Locke had
assented to , Bishop Berkeley conceives it is an
evidence that every man ought to examine and
sift for himself. Upon this point, then, he de.
serted Locke for his rival, and commenced a
chace for proofs :
He would not, with a peremptory tone,
Assert the nose upon his face his own ;
and looked around him for demonstrative evi.
dence whether there be any thing in nature be
sides the Creator and a created mind . And the
well-known result of the chace was that he could
discover nothing else : he could discover neither a
material world nor matter of any kind ; neither
corporeal objects nor corporeal senses, with which
to feel about for objects ; he could not even dis
cover his own head and ears, his own hands, feet,
or voice, as substantive existences; and the whole
that he could discover was proofs to demonstrate
not only that these things have no substantive
existence, but that it is impossible they could
have any such existence ; or in other words, that
it is impossible that there can be any such thing
as matter under any modification whatever, cog
nizable by mental faculties.
VOL . III.
130 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS.
· Let us, however, attend to the limitation that
external objects can have no substantive or mate
rial existence, for otherwise we shall give a
caricature-view of this hypothesis, (which it by
no means stands in need of,) and ascribe to it
doctrines and mischievous results which, if it
be candidly examined , will not be found charge
able to it. Dr. Beattie, from not adverting to
this limitation, appears, in his humorous descrip
tion of the Bishop of Cloyne’s principles, to have
been mistaken upon several points ; and it is
but justice to the memory of a most excellent
and exemplary prelate, as well as enlightened
philosopher, to correct the errors into which his
equally excellent and enlightened opponent has
fallen. When Berkeley asserts that he can
prove that there is nothing in existence but a
Creator and created mind, and that matter, and,
consequently , material objects and material
organs have not, and cannot have a being, he
does not mean , as Dr. Beattie has represented
him to mean , thathe himself, or his own mind ,
is the only created being in the universe * ; nor
that external objects and external qualities do
not and cannot exist independent of, and distinct
from , created mind. He allowsas unequivocally
as Dr. Beattie himself the existence of fellow
minds or fellow -beings, possessing appropriate
senses, as also the existence of external and
real objects, and of external and real qualities ,

* Beattie on Truth , 8vo. p. 159."

 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS. 131

by which such senses are really and definitely

influenced ; contending alone that none of these
objects or qualities are material, or any thing
more than effects of the immediate agency of
an ever-present Deity , “ who,” to adopt his own
words, “ knows and comprehends all things,
and exhibits them to our view in such a man
ner, and according to such rules as he himself
has ordained, and are termed by us the laws
of nature. - When ," says he, “ in broad day
light I open my eyes, it is not in my power to
choose whether I shall see or no, or to deter
mine what particular objects shall present them .
selves to my view ; and so likewise as to the
hearing and other senses, the ideas imprinted on
them are not creatures of my will. There is,
therefore, someother will or spirit that produces
them . The question between the materialists
and me is not whether things have a real exist
ence out of the mind of this or that person , but
whether they have an absolute existence, distinct
from being perceived by (in ) God and exterior
to all minds ? I assert as well as they, that
since we are affected from without, we must
allow powers to be without in a being distinct
from ourselves . So far we are agreed . But
then we differ as to the kind of this powerful
being. I will have it to be spirit : they matter,
or I know not what third nature." *

* Princip . of Hum . Knowledge. .

K 2
 132 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS.

According to Dr. Beattie, Berkeley taught

“ that external objects (that is, the things which
we take for external objects ) are nothing but
ideas in our minds; and that independent of us
and our faculties, the earth, the sun, and the
starry heavens, have no existence at all ; that a
lighted candle has not one of those qualities
which it appears to have ; that it is not white,
nor luminous, nor round, nor divisible, nor ex
tended ; but that for any thing we know , or can
ever know , to the contrary, it may be an Egyp
tian pyramid , the King of Prussia, a mad dog,
the island of Madagascar, Saturn 's ring , one of
the Pleiades, or nothing at all.”
Now all this shows a fruitful fund of pleasantry,
but in the present case it is pleasantry somewhat
misapplied . It would indeed be a woeful state
of things if such 'were the confusion or anomaly
of our ideas, that we could never distinguish one
object from another, and were for evermistaking
the King of Prussia for an Egyptian pyramid ,
" a lighted candle for a mad dog, and the island
of Madagascar for the Pleiades or Saturn ' s ring.
But it would be a state of things no more
* chargeable to Dr.Berkeley' s than to Dr. Beattie ' s
view of nature ; since the former supposes as per

'as perfect an independence of themind that per

ceives them , the possession of as permanent and
definite qualities, and as regular a catenation
of causes and effects, as the latter. Or, in other
words, it supposes that all things exist as they
22
 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS. 133

appear to exist, añd must necessarily produce

such effects as we find them produce, but that
they do not exist corporeally ; that they have
no substrate and can have no substrate of matter,
nor any other being than that given them by
the immediate agency of the Deity ; or, in still
fewer words, that all things exist and are only
seen to exist in God : a representation of nature,
which , however erroneous, is by no means
necessarily connected with those mischievous and
fatal consequences which Dr. Beattie ascribed
to it, and which, if fairly founded, must have
been sufficient not only to have deterred Bishop
Berkeley from starting it at first, but those very,
excellent prelates and acute reasoners, Bishop
Sherlock and Bishop Smallwood , from becoming
converts to it afterwards.
The hypothesis, however, after taking away
all undue colouring, and regarding it as merely
assuming the non-existence of matter and a
material world , is still abundantly absurd in a
philosophical point of view . Yet so fully had
Berkeley persuaded himself of its truth, that
he had the firmest conviction that if the world
be, as it is said to be, composed of men , women ,
and children of a corporeal and material make ,
with ground beneath our feet and a sky over
our heads, every bodymust in his heart believe
as he believed, namely, that there are no such
women nor children , no such ground, sky, or
any thing else but mind and mental perception .
Nevertheless, whichsoever creed be true, he con
K 3
 134 ON' ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS.

tended that it could make no difference in the

regulation of our moral conduct ; which he
endeavours to prove by the following notable
strain of argument : “ That nothing gives us
interest in thematerial world except the feelings,
pleasant or painful, which accompany our per
ceptions; that these perceptions are the same
whether we believe the material world to exist
or not to exist ; consequently, that our pleasant
or painful feelings are also the same ; and there
fore that our conduct, which depends on our
feelings and perceptions, must be the same
whether we believe or disbelieve the existence
of matter."
· The more we reflect upon the native vigour
and acuteness of Bishop Berkeley 's mind, as
well as upon his extensive information and
learning, the more we must feel astonished that
he could for one moment be serious in the pro
fession of so wild and chimerical a creed . And
to those who are not acquainted with the subject
it may perhaps appear impossible for the utmost
stretch of human ingenuity to push such a revery
any farther.
• To the possession of such ingenuity, however,
the celebrated author of the“ Treatise on Human
Nature” is fairly and fully entitled . This notable
performance, though published anonymously ,
is well known to be the production of Mr. Hume;
and though, in the Essays to which his name
appears, he makes some scruple of acknow
ledging it, and hints at its containing a few
 TCS

ON ANCIENT AND MODERN Sceptics. 135

ANCIENT ND MODERN

points which he subsequently thought erroneous,

he maintains, in his avowed volumes, the same
principles and the consequences of those prin
ciples so generally , that it is difficult to under
stand what errors he would wish - the world to
suppose he had ever retracted.
In mounting into the sublimeregions of meta
physical absurdity , Bishop Berkeley furnished
him with the ladder ; but as I have already
hinted, Hume ascended it higher, and, conse
quently , in his own opinion , had a more correct
and extensive view of the airy scene before him .
If, said he, there be nothing in nature but
mind and the perceptions of mind, - perceptions
diversified , indeed , by being sometimes stronger
and sometimes weaker, and which may hence
be properly distinguished by the names of im
pressions and ideas, - how do we know that we
IN

possess a mind any more than that we possess

a body, which no reasonable man or philosopher
can possibly think of contending for? How do
we know that there is any thing more than im
pressions and ideas ? This is the utmost we can
know ; and even this we cannot know to a cer
tainty : for nobody butfools will pretend certainly
to know or to believe any thing. These ideas and
impressions follow each other, and are therefore
conjoined, but we have no proof that there is
any necessary connection between them . They
are “ a bundle of perceptions that succeed each
other with inconceivable rapidity , and are in a
K 4 . .
136 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS .

perpetual flux * ;" and hence Imyself of to -day

am no more the I myself of yesterday or to
morrow , than I am Nebuchadnezzar or Cleo
patra.
Now all this nonsense in Bishop Berkeley , even
had His Lordship gone so far, which , however,
he did not do, we could laugh at ; for his mind
was of too excellent a cast to mean mischief.
But it is impossible to make the same allowance
to Mr. Hume, since the doctrines he attempts to
build upon this nonsense effectually prevent us
from doing so .
If the mind of every man become every mo
ment a different being, all punishment for crime
must be absurd ; for you can never hit the culprit,
who is every moment slipping through your fin
gers, and may as well hang the sheriff as the
thief. No philosopher , it seems, can even dream
of believing in an external world , and yet
(putting by the trash of innate ideas) what other
arguments have we, continues the same school,
if school it may be called , for the existence and
attributes of a Supreme Being. You may talk of
power , but it is a word without a meaning : we
can form no idea of power, nor of any being
endued with any power, much less of a being
endued with infinite power. And we can never
have reason to believe that any object or quality
of an object exists of which we cannot form an
idea . It is, indeed , unreasonable to believe

* Treat. of Human Nat. vol. i. p .438, & c.

 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS. 137

God to be infinitely wise and good while there

is any evil or disorder in the universe ; nor have
we any sound reason to believe that the world , . ..
whatever it may be, proceeds from him , or from
any cause whatever. We can never fairly deno
minate any thing a cause till we have repeatedly
seen it produce like effects ; but the universe
is an effect quite singular and unparalleled ;
and hence it is impossible for us to know any
thing of its cause ; it is impossible for us to know
that there is any universe whatever ; any crea
ture or any Creator ; or any thing in existence
but impressions and ideas. *

* Mr.Hume seemsto have been only a speculative advo

cate of his own doctrines : the Bishop of Cloyne, like the
Greek sceptics to whom we have formerly adverted , were
real believers. And it is not a little singular that the fund
amental atheism on which the doctrines of Boodhism are
founded , as professed throughout the Burman empire, has
given rise, even in the present day, to a sect of philosophi.
'cal sceptics of the very same kind ; of which Mr. Judson,
the intelligent American missionary, to whom I have already
alluded, (Ser. III. Lect. 111.) gives us, in his Journal, the
following notable example : “ May 20. 1821. Encountered
another new character, one Moung Long, from the neigh .
bourhood of Shway-doung, a disciple of the great Tong
dwan teacher, the acknowledged head of all the semi
atheists in the country. Like the rest of the sect,Moung
Long is, in reality , a complete sceptic , scarcely believing
his own existence. They say he is always quarrelling with
his wife on some metaphysical point. For instance, if she
says, “ The rice is ready," he will reply , “ Rice ! What is
rice? Is it matter or spirit ? Is it an idea, or is it a non
entity ?" Perhaps she will say, “ It is matter !" and he will
138 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS.
· It is notmy intention to enter into these argu
ments, nor is it necessary. For though there
had been ten times more force or more folly in
them than there is, we have already traced the
Babel-building to its foundation , and know that
it rests upon emptiness .
Scotland has the disgrace of having given
birth to this hydra of absurdity and malignity :
she has also the honour of having produced the
Hercules by whom it has been strangled. She
has, indeed, amply atoned : for she has pro
duced a Hercules in almost every one of her
universities. True to the high charge reposed in
them , the public guardians of her morals have
started forth from Edinburgh, Glasgow , and
Aberdeen ,armed in celestialpanoply, and equally
masters of their weapons. Neither argument
nor raillery have been spared on the occasion ;
and instead of invidiously enquiring whether
Reid , Beattie , or Stewart be chiefly entitled to
the honours of the victory , let us vote them our
thanks in the aggregate. The only regret ( and
it is incident to human affairs that in almostevery
victory there should be a regret) is that in
pulling down one hypothesis they should have
thought it requisite to build up another, and to

reply, “ Well, wife , and what is matter ? Are you sure there
is any such thing in existence, or are you merely subject to
a delusion of the senses ?" — Account of the American
Baptist Mission to the Burman Empire, & c . by A . H . Jud .
son , p . 304 . 8vo. Lond. 1823.
 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS. 139

give a proof of their own weakness in the midst

of their own triumph . But this is a subject
which must be reserved for our next lecture .
I cannot, however, consent to quit our present
connexion with Mr. Hume without adverting to
Dr. Beattie 's very witty, and I may say, for the
most part, logical pleasantry upon the leading
principle of Mr. Hume's hypothesis, that our
impressions and ideas of things only differ in
degrees of strength ; the idea being an exact
copy of the impression , but only accompanied
with a weaker perception . Upon this proposition
Dr. Beatie remarks as follows * : “ When I sit
by the fire, I have an impression of heat, and I
can form an idea of heat when I am shivering
with cold ; in the one case I have a stronger
perception of heat, in the other a weaker.
Is there any warmth in this idea of heat ? There
must, according to this doctrine ; only the
warmth of the idea is not quite so strong as that
of the impression . For this author repeats it
again and again , that an idea is by its nature
weaker and fainter than an impression, but is in
every other respect (not only similar but ) the
same.' t Nay, he goes further, and says, that
! whatever is true of the one must be acknow
ledged concerning the other ; ' and he is so
confident of the truth of this maxim , that he
makes it one of the pillars of his philosophy.
* Beattie on Truth , part ii. ch .ii.
+ Treatise of Human Nature, vol. i. p . 131.
# Ibid . p .41.
 140 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS.
To those who may be inclined to admit this
maxim on his authority, I would propose a few
plain questions. Do you feel any, even the
least, warmth, in the idea of a bonfire, a burning
mountain , or the general conflagration ? Do you
feel more real cold in Virgil' s Scythian winter
than in Milton 's description of the flames of
hell ? Do you acknowledge that to be true of
the idea of eating, which is certainly true of the
impression of it, that it alleviates hunger, fills
the belly, and contributes to the support of hu
man life ? If you answer these questions in the
negative, you deny one of the fundamental
principles of this philosophy. We have, it is
true, a livelier perception of a friend when we
see him , than when we think of him in his
absence. But this is not all : every person of a .
sound mind knows, that in the one case we be
lieve, and are certain , that the object exists, and
is present with us ; in the other we believe,
and are certain , that the object is not present :
which, however, they must deny, who maintain ;
that an idea differs from an impression only in
being weaker, and in no other respect whatso
ever.
" That every idea should be a copy and resem
blance of the impression whence it is derived ;
that, for example, the idea of red should be
a red idea ; the idea of a roaring lion a roaring
idea ; the idea of an ass, a hairy, long- eared,
sluggish idea, patient of labour, and much ad .
dicted to thistles; that the idea of extension
 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS. 141
should be extended , and that of solidity solid ;
- that a thought of the mind should be endued
with all, or any, of the qualities of matter, - is,
in my judgment, inconceivable and impossible.
Yet our author takes it for granted ; and it is
another of his fundamental maxims. Such is
the credulity of scepticism !”
It is a singular coincidence, that while the
substantive existence of an external world was
thus hotly attacked by metaphysics, the science
of physics should have proved just as adverse to
it : thus reviving, as we have already seen , the
very same double assault to which it had been
exposed at Athens, shortly after the establish
ment of the Academy. This latter controversy
commenced and hinged upon what are the real
qualities of matter. Heat, cold , colours, smell,
taste, and sounds, had been pretty generally
banished from the list about the middle of the
seventeenth century. Locke contended, after
Sir Isaac Newton, for solidity , extension, mobi
lity, and figure : but it was soon found that there
is a great difficulty in granting it solidity : that
the particles of bodies never come into actual
contact, or influence each other by the means
of objective pressure ; that however apparently
solid the mass to which they belong, such mass
may be reduced to a smaller bulk by cold, as it
may be increased in bulk by heat ; that we can
hence form 'no conception of perfect solidity,
and every fact in nature appears to disprove its
existence. The minutest corpuscle we can pick
 142 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS .

out is capable of a minuter division , and the

parts into which it divides possessing the com
mon nature of the corpuscle which has produced
them , must necessarily be capable of a still
farther division ; and as such divisions can have
no assignable limit, matter must necessarily and
essentially be divisible to infinity. For these
and similar reasons M . Boscovich contended that
there is no such thing as solidity in matter ; nor
any thing more than simple , unextended, indi
visible points, possessing the powers of attraction
and repulsion , yet producing extension by their
combination. *
Upon the self-contradiction of this hypothesis
I have found it necessary to comment on a
former occasion t ; and shall now , therefore ,
only further observe that it just as completely
sweeps the whole ofmatter away with a physical
broom , as the systems of Berkeley and Hume
do with a metaphysical ; for, by leaving us
nothing but inextended points, possessing mere
powers without a substrate, it leaves nothing at
all, - a world indeed, but a world « without
form , and void ;" with darkness, not only upon
the face of the deep, but there and every where
else.
" That nothing," says Dr. Reid “ can act im
mediately where it is not, I think must be ad
* Theoria Philosophiæ Naturalis, Vien. 1758.
+ Vol. I. Series I. Lect. III. See also Dr. Wollaston's
paper “ On the finite extent of the Atmosphere," Phil.
Trans. 1822. p .89.
 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS. 143

mitted ; for I think , with Sir Isaac Newton ,

that power without substance is inconceivable."
Lord Kames, however, in his Elements of Criti
cism , though a strong advocate for the common
sense system , expresses his doubts of the doc
trine contained in this passage.
• To complete the folly of the age, and fix the
laugh of the simple against the wise, while Berke
ley, Hume, and Boscovich were thus, in their
different ways, dissipating the world of matter, in
favour of the world of mind, another set of
philosophers started up, -
- impios
. . Titanas, immanemque turmam , *
An impious, earth -born , fierce, Titanic race, -
and put to flight the world of mind in favour of
the world of matter. Hobbes, who was a con
temporary and friend of Des Cartes, courageously
led the van , and did ample justice, and some
what more than ample justice, to the senses, by
contending that we have no other knowledge
than what they supply us with, and what they
themselves derive from the world before them ;
that the mind is nothing more than the general
result of their action ; and that with them it be
gins, and with them it ceases.
To Hobbes succeeded Spinosa , who was born
in the very same year with Locke, and who
carried forward the crusade of matter against

* Hor. lib . iii. 4 .

144 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS.
mind, to so illimitable a career, that hemade the
world , the human senses, the human soul, and
the Deity himself, matter and nothing else : all
one common material being ; no part of which
can or ever could exist otherwise than as it is,
and consequently every part of which is equally
the creature and the Creator.
In the midst of these indiscriminate assaults,
appeared Hartley ; whose learning, benevolence,
and piety, entitle his memory to be held in vener
ation by every good man . He strenuously
contended for the existence of mind and matter
as distinct principles ; and conceived it was in
his power to settle the general controversy , by
showing what Locke had failed to do, or rather
what he had too much modesty to attempt ; the
direct means by which the external senses, and
consequently theexternalworld , operates upon the
mind. And hence arose thewell known and at one
time highly popular hypothesis of the association
of ideas. It was conceived by Dr. Hartley that
thenervous fibrils,which form themedium of com
munication between the external senses and the
brain or sensory, are solid and elastic capillaments ;
that on every impression of objects upon the
senses the nervous chord , immediately connected
with the sense , vibrates through its whole length ,
and communicates the vibration to the substance
of the brain , and particularly to its central re
gion, which is the seat of sensation , leavingupon
every communication a mark or vestige of itself ;
which produces a sensation, and excites its corre
 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS. 145
spondent perception or idea. The more fre
quently these vibrations are renewed, or the
more vigorously they are impressed, the stronger
will be the vestiges or ideas they induce ; and
as, in every instance, they occasion vibratiuncles ,
or miniature vibrations, through the substance
of the brain itself, a foundation is hereby laid
for a series of slighter vestiges, sensations, and
ideas after the primary vibrations have ceased
to act. And hence originate the faculties of
memory and imagination. And as any order of
vibrations, by being associated together a cer
tain number of times, obtain a habit of mutual
influence, any single sensation or single idea be
longing to such crder acquires a power of calling
thewhole train into action, either synchronously
or successively , whenever called into action
itself.
Now according to this system the brain of
man is a direct sensitive violin , consisting of mu
sical strings, whose tones go off in thirds, fifths,
and eighths, as regularly as in a common fiddle ,
through the whole extent of its diapason ; and
the orator who understands his art, may be said ,
without a figure, to play skilfully upon the brains
of his auditors. The hypothesis, however, is
ingenious and elegant, and has furnished us with
a variety of detached hints of great value ; but
it labours under the following fatal objections.
First,the nervous fibres have little or no elasticity
belonging to them , less so perhaps than any
other animal fibres whatever ; and next, while it
VOL . III .
146 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCÈPTICS.
supposes a soul distinct from the brain , it leaves
it no office to perform : for the medullary vibra .
tions are not merely causes of sensations, ideas,
and associations, but in fact the sources of reason ,
belief, imagination, mental passion, and all other
intellectualoperations whatever.
Admitting, therefore, the full extent of this
hypothesis, still it gives us no information about
the nature of the mind and its proper functions ;
and leaves us just as ignorant as ever of the
power by which it perceives the qualities of ex
ternal objects. The difficulty was felt by many
of the advocates for the associate system , espe
cially by Priestley and Darwin ; and it was no
sooner felt than it was courageously attacked,
and in their opinion completely overcome. No
thing was clearer to them than that Dr. Hartley
had overloaded his system with machinery : that
no such thing as a mind was wanting distinct
from the brain or sensory itself : that ideas, to
adoptthe language of Darwin , are the actual con
tractions, motions, or configurations of the fibres
which constitute the immediate organ of sense ,
and consequently material things* : or, to adopt
the language of Priestley, that ideas are just as
divisible as the archetypes or external objects that
produce them ; and, consequently, like other parts
of the material frame, may be dissected, dried ,
pickled, and packed up, like herrings, for home
consumption or exportation , according as the
* Zoon. vol. i. p . 11. edit. 3 .
 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS. 147

foreign or domestic market may have the largest

demand for them . And consequently, also, that
the brain or sensory, or the train of material
ideas that issue from it, is the soul itself ; not a
fine-spun flimsy immaterial soul or principle of
thought, like that of Berkeley or even of Hume,
existing unconnectedly in the vast solitudeofuni
versal space, but a solid , substantial, alderman
like soul, a real spirit of animation , fond of good
cheer and good company ; that enters into all
the pursuits of the body while alive, and par
takes of one common fate in its dissolution .
If there be too much crassitude in this modi
fication of materialism , as has generally been
supposed , even bymaterialists themselves, there
is at least something tangible in it : something
that we can grasp and cope with , and fix and
understand ; which is more, I fear, than can be
said of those subtler and more complicated mo
difications of the same substrate, which have
somewhat more lately been brought forward in
France to supply its place, and which represent
the human fabric as a duad , or even a triad of
unities, instead of a mixed or simple unity ; as a
combination * of a corruptible life within a cor
ruptible life two or three deep, each possessing
its own separate faculties or manifestations, but
covered with a common outside.
This remark more especially applies to the
philosophers of the French school ; and particu

* Stud. of Med. vol. iv . p . 41 - 45 . edit. 2.

L2
148 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS .

larly to the system of Dumas" , as modified by

Bichat ; under which more finished form man is
declared to consist of a pair of lives, each dis
tinct and co-existent, under the names of an
organic and an animal life ; with two distinct
assortments of sensibilities, an unconscious and a
conscious. Each of these lives is limited to a
separate set of organs, runs its race in parallel
steps with the other ; commencing coetaneously
and perishing at the samemoment. This work
appeared at the close of the past century ; was
read and admired by most physiologists ; cre
dited by many ; and became the popular pro
duction of the day. Within ten or twelve years,
however, it ran its course, and was as generally
either rejected or forgotten even in France ; and
M . Richerand first, and M . Magendie since, have
thought themselves called upon to modify Bichat,
in order to render him more palatable, as Bichat
had already modified Dumas. Under the last
series of remodelling, which is that of M . Magen
die, we have certainly an improvement, though
the machinery is quite as complex. Instead of
two distinct lives M . Magendie presents us with
two distinct sets or systems of action or relation ,
each of which has its separate and peculiar func
tions, a system of nutritive action or relation , and
a system of vital. To which is added, by way
of appendix, another system , comprising the
* Principes de Physiologie, tom . iv . 8vo. Par. 1800 — 3.
+ Recherches sur la Vie et la Mort, & c.
 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS. 149
functions of generation.* Here, however , the
brain is not only the seat but the organized sub
stance of the mental powers : so that, we are
expressly told , a man must be as he is made in
his brain , and that education , and even logic it
self, is of no use to him . There are,' says M .
Magendie, justly celebrated persons who have
thought differently ; but they have hereby fallen
into grave errors.' A Deity however is allowed
to exist, because, adds the writer, it is comfort
able to think that he exists, and on this account
the physiologist cannot doubt of his being .
• L ' intelligence de l'homme,' says he, se com
pose de phénoménes tellement différens de tout
ce que présente d 'ailleurs la nature, qu 'on les rap
porte à un être particuliere qu 'on regarde comme
une emanation de la Divinité. Il est trop con
solant de croire à cet étre, pour que le physiolo
giste métte en doute son existence ; mais la séve
rité de language ou de logique que comporte
maintenant la physiologie exige que l'on traite de
l'intelligence humaine comme si elle était le ré
sultat de l'action d 'un organe. En s'écartant de
cette marche, des hommes justement célèbres
sont tombés dans des graves erreurs ; en la sui.
vant, on a , d 'ailleurs, le grand avantage de con
server la même méthode d ' étude, et de rendre
trés faciles des choses qui sont envisagées géné
ralement comme presqu ' au -dessus de l'esprit

* Précis Elementaire de Physiologie, tom .ii. 8vo. Paris,

1816 , 1817.
L 3
150 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS.
humain .' - . Il existe une science dont le but
est d 'apprendre à raisonner justement: c'est la
logique: mais le jugement erroné ou l'esprit faux

therefore false-reasoning , all depend on organiza

tion,) tiennent à l'organization . Il est impossible
de se changer à cet egard ; nous restons, tels
que la nature nous à faits.'*
Dr. Spurzheim has generally been considered,
from the concurrent tenour of his doctrines, as
belonging to the class ofmaterialists ; but this is
to mistake his own positive assertion upon the
subject, or to conclude in opposition to it. He
speaks, indeed, upon this topic with a singu
lar hesitation and reserve, more so , perhaps, thans
upon any other point whatever ; but as far as he
chooses to express himself on so abstruse a sub
ject, he regards the soul as a distinct being from
the body, and at least intimates that it may be
nearer akin to the Deity. Man is with him also
possessed of two lives, an AUTOMATIC and an
ANIMAL: the first produced by organization alone,
and destitute of consciousness ; the second pos
sessed of consciousness dependent on the soul,
and merely manifesting itself by organization.
• We do not,' says he, attempt to explain how
the body and soul are joined together and exer
cise a mutual influence. We do not examine
what the soul can do without the body. Souls,
so far as we know , may be united to bodies at

* Précis Elementaire, & c. ut supra, passim ,

 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS . 151

the moment of conception or afterwards ; they

may be different in all individuals, or of the same
kind in every one ; they may be emanations from
God, or something essentially different.'* The
mind of this celebrated craniologist seemsto be
wonderfully sceptical and bewildered upon the
subject, and studiously avoids the important
question of the capacity of the soul for an inde
pendent and future existence ; but with the

in the class ofmaterialists.

The hypothesis which has lately been started
by Mr. Lawrencet is altogether of a different
kind, and though undoubtedly much simpler than
any of the preceding, does not seem to be built
on á more stable foundation . According to his
view of the subject, organized differs from inor
ganized matter merely by the addition of certain
PROPERTIES which are called vital, as sensibility
and irritability . Masses of matter endowed with
these new PROPERTIES become organs and systems
of organs, constitute an animal frame, and exe
cute distinct sets of PURPOSES or FUNCTIONS ; for
functions and purposes carried into execution are
here synonymous. Life is the assemblage of
ALL the functions ( or purposes ), and the general
result of their exercise.'I
* Physiognomical System , & c. p . 253 . 8vo. Lond . 1815.
† Introduction to Comparative Anatomy and Physiology,
& c . 8vo. 1816 .
| Ibid . p. 120.
L 4
152 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS.
Life, therefore, upon this hypothesis, instead
of being a two- fold or three- fold reality , running
in a combined stream , or in parallel lines, has no
reality whatever . It has no ESSE or independent
existence. It is a mere assemblage of PURPOSES,
and accidental or temporary PROPERTIES : a series
of phænomena * , as Mr. Lawrence has himself
correctly expressed it ; - a name without a thing .
« We know not,” says he, “ the nature of the
link that unites these phænomena, though we are
sensible that a connexion must exist ; and this
conviction is sufficient to induce us to give it a
NAME, which the vulgAR regard as the sign of a
particular principle ; though in fact that name
can only indicate the ASSEMBLAGE OF THE PHÆ
NOMENA which have occasioned its formation." +
The human frame is, hence, a barrel-organ ,
possessing a systematic arrangement of parts,
played upon by peculiar powers, and executing
particular pieces or purposes ; and life is the
music produced by the general assemblage or
result of the harmonious action . So long as either
the vital or the mechanical instrument is duly
wound up by a regular supply of food or of the
wince, so long themusic will continue : butboth
are worn outby their own action ; and when the
machine will no longer work , the life has the
same close as the music ; and in the language of

* Introduction to Comparative Anatomy and Physiology,

& c . p . 122.
+ Ibid .
 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS. 153
CorneliusGallus, as quoted and appropriated by
Leo X .,
- redit in nihilum , quod fuit ante nihil.
There is, however , nothing new either in this
hypothesis or in the present explanation of it .
It was first started in the days of Aristotle by
Aristoxenus, a pupil of his, who was admirably
skilled in music , and by profession a physician .
It was propounded to the world under the name
of the system of HARMONY, either from the
author' s fondness for music , or from his compar.
ing the human frame to a musical instrument, and
his regarding life as the result of all its parts
acting in accordance, and producing a general
and harmonious effect. *
. We have already had occasion to notice this
hypothesis in a former lecture, and the trium
phant objections with which it was met by the
Stoics aswell as by the Epicureanst ; as also that
it has at times been revived since, and especially
by M . Lusac, who extended it to even a wider
range : while the same objections remain unan
swered to the present hour, and seem to be alto
$

gether unanswerable.
There is, moreover, the same looseness in the
term PHÆNOMENA, employed by Mr. Lawrence,
and the French writers just adverted to , as we
have remarked in many of the opposers of Mr.
Locke, who seem to be afraid of fettering them
* Stud. of Med. ut supra .
+ Series I. Lect. IX. on the Principle of Life .
 154 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS.

selves with definite terms or definite ideas. This

looseness may be convenient in many cases, but
it always betrays weakness or imprecision . In
the mouth of the Platonists and Peripatetics of
ancient Greece, we distinctly know that the
term phænomena denoted the archetypes of the
one, or the phantasms of the other. We under
stand it with equal clearness as made use of,
though in very different senses, by Leibnitz in
reference to his system of PRE-ESTABLISHED HAR
MONY, and by Professor Robson , in reference to
that of Boscovich . But when M . Magendie , or
Mr.Lawrence, tellsus that “ human intelligence,"
which is the phrase of the former, in the passage
just quoted , or “ life, ” which is that of the lat
ter, is a COMPOSITION or ASSEMBLAGE of PHÆNO
MENA, — a “ RESULT OF THE ACTION of an organ,"
- we have no distinct notion whatever put be
fore us. The “ purposes,” or “ properties," or
“ functions,” or whatever it is they intend under
the name of PHÆNOMENA, certainly do not seem to
be strictly material in themselves, though we
are told they are, in some way or other, the pro
duct of a material organ : but whether they be
the phantasms of the Greek schools, the visions
of Malebranche or Berkeley, the mathematical
points of Boscovich , the APPARITIONS OR APPEAR
ANCES of the Common -Sense hypothesis, - whe
ther they be a name or a thing, any thing or
nothing, the writers themselves have given us
no clue to determine, and perhaps have hardly
determined for themselves.
 ON ANCIENT AND MODERN SCEPTICS. 155
We have thus travelled over a wide extent of
ground , but have not yet quite reached our jour
ney 's end. It still remains to us to examine the
popular hypothesis of the present day, put forth
from the north , under the captivating title of the
System of Common Sense; produced undoubtedly
from the best motives, and offered as an universal
and infallible specific for all thewounds andweak
nesses we may have incurred in our encounters
with the preceding combatants.
The consideration of this shall form the sub
ject of our ensuing lecture ; and I shall after
wards, by your permission , follow up the whole
by submitting a few general observations on the
entire subject, and endeavour to collect for your
use, from the wide and tangled wilderness in
which we have been beating, the few flowers
and the little fruit thatmay be honestly worth the
trouble of preservation .
 156

LECTURE VI.
ON THE HYPOTHESIS OF COMMON SENSE .

It must be obvious, I think, to every one who

has attentively watched the origin and progress
of those extraordinary and chimerical opinions
through which we have lately been wading, and
which have been dressed up by philosophers of the
rarest endowments and deepest learning, into a
show of systems and theories, that the grand
cause of their absurdities is attributable , to the
imperfect knowledge we possess respecting the
nature and qualities of matter, and the nature
and qualities of those perceptions which material
objects produce in themind , through the medium
of the external senses.
These perceptions, however accounted for,
and whatever they have been supposed to con
sist in , have in most ancient, and in all mo
dern schools been equally denominated ideas ;
and hence ideas have sometimes implied modifi
cations, so to speak, of pure intelligence, which
was the opinion of Plato and of Berkeley ; of
immaterial apparitions or phantasms, which was
that of Aristotle, and in a certain sense may per
haps be said to have been that of Hume; of real
species or material images, which was that of
10
 ON THE HYPOTHESIS OF COMMON SENSE. 157
Epicurus, « of Sir Kenelm Digby * , and many
other schoolmen of themiddle of the seventeenth
century ; of mere notional resemblances, which
was that of Des Cartes ; and of whatever it was
the ultimate intention of any of these scholastic
terms to signify, whether phantasm , notion, or
species ; whatever is the object of the understand
ing when a man thinks, or the mind can be em
ployed about when thinking, which was that of
Locke, and is the fair import of the word in po
pular speech .
It is possible , morever, that this indiscriminate
use of the same term to express differentapprehen
sions,and particularlyin modern times, has contri
buted to many of the errors which are peculiarly
chargeable to themetaphysicalwriters of modern
times. But this opinion has been carried much
ca

farther by Dr. Reid , who has persuaded himself

that the word idea has been the rock on which
all the metaphysical systematizers, from the time
of Aristotle to his own era , have shipwrecked
themselves ; and hence, having determined to
oppose the absurdities of his own countryman
Mr. Hume, by the introduction of a new hypo
thesis, he thought the better way would be to
clear the ground on every side, by an equal ex
communication of this mischievous term , and of
every system into which it had ever found an
* He was warmly opposed by Alexander Ross, of Hudi
brastic memory, who was a staunch Aristotelian, and, con
sequently, denied the materiality of ideas. See Ross's
argument in Professor Stewart's Essays, vol. i. p . 556. 4to.
 158 ON THE HYPOTHESIS

entrance ; whence all the authors of such sys

tems, whatever may have been their views or
principles in other respects, he has lumped to
gether by the common name of Idealists.
The motive of Dr. Reid was pure and praise
worthy : he entered the arena with great and
splendid talents ; and soon found himself power
fully abetted by his friends Dr. Adam Smith ,
Dr. Beattie , Lord Kames, Dr. Campbell, and
Mr. Dugald Stewart : but it must be obvious to
every one, that in the execution of his motive he
has carried his resentment to a strange and some
what ludicrous extreme. Idea is a word suffi
ciently harmless in itself, and even his own friends
have not chosen to follow him in his Quixotic
warfare against it ; and have consequently con
tinued to use it, in spite ofhis outlawry and pro
scription : while to arrange under the same ban
ner every one who has employed this term , and to
impute the same dangerous tendency to every
hypothesis in which it is to be met with , is to
make the wearing of a blue or a chocolate coat a
sure sign of treason, and to assert thatevery man
who is found thus habited deserves hanging .
Mr. Locke distinctly tells us, that he uses the
term idea in its popular sense, and only in its
popular sense. Buthe uses it, and that is enough :
- the mischief is in the word itself. It has, how .
ever, been attempted to be proved that he has
not always known the sense in which he did
use it ; and that he has sometimes employed it
 OF COMMON SENSE . 159
in a popular and sometimes in a scholastic im .
port, as denoting that certain ideas are not mere
notional perceptions, but material images or
copies of the objects which they indicate , by
which means he has given a strong handle to
such materialists, or favourers ofmaterialism , as
Hartley, Priestley, and Darwin : while, by his
striking away from bodies all their secondary
qualities, as taste , smell, sound, and colour, he
has given a similar handle to such immaterialists
as Berkeley and Hume. . .
Now it is not often that a theory is accused of
leaning north and south at the same time; and
whenever it can be so accused, the charge is,
perhaps the highest compliment that can be
paid to it, as proving its uprightness and freedom
from bias. But it was absolutely necessary for
the success of the new hypothesis that the
Essay on Human Understanding should be de
monstrated to be radically erroneous, and par
ticularly to have some connexion in the way of
causation with what may be called the physical
speculations of the day, whether of materialism
or of immaterialism : since so long as this re
mained firm , so long as the system maintained
its ground, the immortal edifice proposed to be
erected - monumentum ære perennius - could
find no place for a foundation ; and on this ac
count, and so far as I can learn, on this account
alone, the name of Locke has been placed
among 6 the most celebrated promoters of
 160 ON THE HYPOTHESIS

modern scepticism * ;” though it is admitted,

that nothing was farther from his intention .
· It is hence requisite , before we enter upon a
survey of this new hypothesis, to enquire how
far the objections which were offered against
Mr.Locke's theory are founded in fact, I have
already mentioned two of the more prominent,
and I shall have occasion to mention two others
immediately .
We are told , in the first place, that Mr. Locke
has notused the term idea in all instances in one
and the same signification ; and that while it
sometimes imports something separate from
body, it sometimes imports a modification of
body itself.
But this is egregiously to mistake his mean
ing, and to charge him with a confusion of
conception which only belongs to the person
who can thus interpret him . Des Cartes, after
most of the Greek philosophers, had asserted ,
that our ideas are in some way or other exact
images of the objects presented to the senses :
Mr.Locke, inopposition to this assertion, contend
ed that so far from being exactimages they have
not the smallest resemblance to them in any re
spect, with the exception of those ideas that repre
sent thereal or primary qualities of bodies,or such
as belong to bodies intrinsically ; and which , in
his own day, were supposed to consist of figure,

* Beattie on Truth : compare part ii. ch . ii. $ 1 2 . with

the opening of part ii. ch . ii. $ 2 .
 OF COMMON SENSE . 161

extension, solidity , motion , or rest, and number.

These qualities being REAL in the bodies in which
they appear, the ideas which REALLY represent
them are, in his opinion , entitled to be called
RESEMBLANCES of them ; while the ideas of the
secondary qualities of bodies, or those which
are not real butmerely ostensible , or which, in
other words, do not intrinsically belong to the
bodies in which they appear, as colour, sound ,
taste , and smell, are not entitled to be called re
semblances of them . Now what does such ob
servation upon these two sets of qualities amount
to ? Plainly and unequivocally to this, and
nothing more ; that as the first set of ideas are
real representatives of real qualities, and the
latter real representatives of ostensible qualities,
there is in the former case a resemblance of
reality , though there is no other resemblance,
and in the latter case, no) Te
resemblance of reality ,
and consequently no resemblance whatever .
The resemblance is in respect to the reality of
the qualities perceived : it is simply a resem
blance of reality : here it begins and here it
ends. But the adverse commentators before us
contend that it neither begins nor ends here ;
and that the word resemblance must necessarily
import an actual and material resemblance, - a
corporeal copy or image , and that conse
quently the class, of ideas referred to must ne
cessarily be material and corporeal things. So
that it is not allowable to any man to say, that
truth resembles a rock , unless he means, and is
VOL . III.
162 ON THE HYPOTHESIS

prepared to prove that truth is a hard , stony mass

ofmatter jutting into the sea, and fatal to ships
that dash against it.
But many of Mr. Locke's own followers are
said to have understood him in this sense . Not,
however, in regard to this distinction : though I
am ready to admit that many of those who have
pretended to be his followers have misunder
stood him upon the subject of ideas generally ,
and have affirmed, in direct opposition to his own
words that, in the Essay on Human Understand
e d
ided by th or pictur Ppose to
ing, all our ideas of sensation are supposed to
be sensible representations or pictures of the
objects apprehended by the senses. This ob
servation particularly applies to Locke's French
commentators and followers, Condillac, Turgot,
Helvetius, Diderot, D ' Alembert, Condorcet,
Destutt- Tracy, and Degerando : concerning
whom Professor Stewart has made the follow
ing just remark ; that while “ these ingenious
men have laid hold eagerly of this common
principle of reasoning, and have vied with each
other in extolling Locke for the sagacity which
he has displayed in unfolding it, hardly two of
them can be named who have understood it
precisely in the sense annexed to it by the au
thor. What is still more remarkable , the praise
of Locke has been loudest from those who
seem to have taken the least pains to ascertain
the import of his conclusions." *

* Essays, vol. i. p. 102.

 OF COMMON SENSE . 163
The term OBJECT Mr. Locke has occasionally
used in an equally figurative sense . Thus
book ii. ch . i. sect. 24 . : « In time,” says he,
“ the mind comes to reflect on its own oper
ations about the ideas got by sensation ; and
thereby stores itself with a new set of ideas,
which I call ideas of reflection . These are the
impressions that are made on our senses by out.
WARD OBJECTS that are extrinsical to the mind ,
and its own operations proceeding from powers
intrinsical and proper to itself'; which when re
flected on by itself, becoming also OBJECTS of
its contemplation, are, as I have said , the ori.
ginals of all knowledge.”
No words can more clearly prove that Locke
regarded ideas of sensation as impressions made
by external objects, and not as objects them
selves ; and ideas of reflection as operations of
the mind, and no more objects, literally so con
sidered, than in the preceding case . And hence,
when , towards the close of the above passage,
he applies the term objects to these operations,
he can only in fairness be supposed to do it in a
figurative sense : in which sense, indeed, he ap
plies the same term to ideas of all kinds in
another place, where he explains an idea to be
66 whatsoever is the OBJECT of the understand
ing when a man thinks.” And yet he has been
accused , by the School of Common Sense, of
using the term literally ; and it is “ to Dr. Reid ,” ;
S .
says Mr. Stewart, “ that we owe the important
remark that all these notions ( images, phan
M 2
164 ON THE HYPOTHESIS

tasms, & c.) are wholly hypothetical * ," and

that we have no ground for supposing that in
any operation of the mind there exists in it an
object distinct from the mind itself.
With respect to the division of the qualities
of bodies just adverted to , though derived from
the views of Sir Isaac Newton, I am ready to
admit that it is loose, and in some respects
perhaps erroneous. Nor is this to be won
dered at ; for I have already had frequent oc
casions to observe that it is a subject upon
which we are totally ignorant ; and that we are
rather obliged to suppose, than are capable of
proving the existence of even the least contro
verted primary qualities of bodies, as extension ,
solidity , and figure, in order to avoid falling into
the absurdity of disbelieving a material sub
strate. But the supporters of the new hypo
thesis have no reason to triumph upon this
point, since it is a general doctrine of their
creed that all the qualities of matter are
equally primary or real; in the interpretation of
which, however, the sentiments of Mr. Stewart
are wider from those of Dr. Reid than Dr.
Reid' s are from Mr. Locke's.
Nor are they altogether clear from the very
same charge here advanced agai
sar

66 Professor Stewart in his Elements says,

. Dr. Reid has justly distinguished the quality
of colour from what he calls the appearance of

* Elem . ch . iii. § ii. Fearne’s Essay , p . 23,

 OF COMMON SENSE . 165

colour, which last can only exist in a mind .'

And Dr. Reid himself says, " The name of
colour belongs indeed to the cause only, and
not to the effect.' ” Here, then, we have it un
equivocally from Dr. Reid, that colour is a
quality in an external body, and the sens
ation occasioned by it in the mind is only the
appearance of that external quality ! ! Would
any one suppose that such doctrine could come
from the illustrious defender of non -resem
blances ? - from the founder of the school which
ridicules Locke, Berkeley, and Hume, for sup
posing that our ideas of primary qualities are
resemblances of those qualities ? - " What is the
appearance of any thing but a resemblance of it ?
An appearance of any thing means the highest
degree of resemblance ; or that precise resem
blance of it which makes it seem to be the thing
itself.” * Appearance, in Dr. Reid 's sense of the
term , is precisely assimilated to the phantasm of
Aristotle.
In reality, neither of these objections against
Mr. Locke's theory seem to have weighed very
heavy with Dr. Beattie ; whose chief ground of
controversy is drawn from another source ; from
Locke's having opposed the Cartesian doctrine
of innate ideas and principles: or, in other words,
from his having opposed M . Des Cartes's gra
tuitous assertion that infallible notionsof a God ,

* Fearne's Essay on Consciousnesss, ch . xii. p . 247.

2d edit.
M3
166 ON THE HYPOTHESIS

of matter, of consciousness, of moral right, to

gether with other notions of a like kind, are
implanted in the mind, and may be found there
by any man who will search for them ; thus su
perseding the necessity for discipline and educa
tion , and putting savages upon a level with
theologians and moral philosophers. To confute
this absurdity of M . Des Cartes is the direct ob
ject of the first book of the Essay on Human
Understanding ; " and it is this first book," says
Dr. Beattie, “ which, with submission , I think
the worst and most dangerous." * Here again ,
however, it is altogether unnecessary for me to
offer a vindication , for it hasbeen already offered
by one of the most able supporters of the new
system , Mr. Dugald Stewart himself ; who thus
observes, as though in direct contradiction to his
friend Dr. Beattie ; “ the hypothesis of innate
ideas thus interpreted (by Des Cartes and Male.
branche) scarcely seems to have ever merited a
serious refutation. In England , for many years
past, it has sunk into complete oblivion , except
ing as a monument of the follies of the learned ." +
We have thus far noticed three objections ad
vanced against Mr. Locke' s system by the three
warmest champions for the new hypothesis. And
it is a curious fact, that they are almost advanced
singly ; for upon these three points the three
combatants are very little more in harmony with

* Beattie on Truth, part ii. ch .ii. sect. i. $ 2.

+ Essays, vol. i. p . 117 .
 OF COMMON SENSE . 167

themselves than they are with the Goliah against

whom they have entered the lists. There is a
fourth objection , however, and it would be the
chief and most direct, if it could be well sup
ported, on which the metaphysicians of the north
seem to be unanimous. The Essay on Human
Undertanding resolves all the ideas we possess,
or can possibly possess, into the two classes of
those obtained by sensation , or the exercise of
our external senses, and those obtained by re
flection, or the operations of the mind on itself ;
and it defies its readers to point out a single idea
which is not reducible to the one or the other of
these general heads. The supporters of the
northern hypothesis have specially accepted this
challenge, and have attempted to point out a
variety of ideas, or CONCEPTIONS, as Dr. Reid
prefers calling them , which are in the mind of
every man , and which are neither the result of
sensation or reflection ; and they have peculiarly
fixed upon those of extension , figure, and mo
tion . And hence this argument is regarded as
decisive, and is proposed , both by Dr. Reid and
Professor Stewart, “ as an experimentum crucis,
by which the ideal system must stand or fall.” *
Now , strictly speaking, this invincible argu
ment, as it is called , is no argument whatever.
It is a mere question of opinion, whether the
above-named ideas, together with those of time,

* Reid 's Inquiry , & c. p . 137. Stewart's Essays, vol.i.

p. 549 .
M 4
168 ON THE HYPOTHESIS

space, immensity, and eternity , which belong to

the same class, can be obtained either by means
of the external senses or the operation of the
mind upon its own powers, or whether they can in

not. And , for myself, I completely concur in

believing with Mr. Locke that they can : though
I am ready to leave this part of the subject, as I
am the whole question between us, to Mr. Stew
art' s own case of the boy born blind and deaf,
as communicated to the Royal Society of Edin
burgh in the course of last year * ; who, it is
admitted, is possessed of perfect soundness of
mind ; but who, at that time in his seventeenth
year, was, as we are expressly told , without any
idea of a being superior to himself ; of any re
ligious feelings ; and who did not appear to have
possessed any moral feelings upon the sudden -
death of an indulgent father, notwithstanding
the utmost pains that had been taken to give him
instruction. If this boy shall be found to pos
sess as clear an idea of figure andmotion as those
who have the free use of their eyes, I will readily
allow Mr. Locke's system to be unfounded . That
he must have some idea followsnecessarily from
this system ; because he appears to have a very
fine touch, and has also , or at least had till very

~ * Some Account of a Boy born Blind and Deaf. By

Dugald Stewart, Esq. F . R . S . Ed . 4to . Edin . 1812.” With
which compare, relating to the same individual, “ History
of James Mitchel, a Boy born Blind and Deaf, & c . By
James Wardrop, F . R . S.” Ed. 4to . 1813.
 OF COMMON SENSE . 169
lately, some small glimmering of light and co
lours. *
But, upon the northern hypothesis, he ought
not only to have some idea of these qualities of
bodies, but A MOST TRUE AND CORRECT IDEA,
probably more so , instead of less so , than that of
other persons ; since he is said to obtain it from a
faculty which is not supposed to be injured , and
since the want of one sense is usually found to
strengthen the remainder.
With respect to the idea of extension, indeed ,
which, by somephilosophers, is thought to be the
most difficult of the whole , it appears to me that
it is capable of being obtained with at least as
much perspicuity asthat of most other qualities of
bodies, and more so than ideas of many of them ;
TOT
for we have in this instance the power of touch to
correct that of sight, or vice versá ; while in a mul
titude of other instances we are compelled to
trust to one sense alone. Extension , in its general
signification , is a complex idea , resulting from a
combination of the more simple ideas of length ,
breadth , and thickness ; and hence evidently im
ports a continuity of the parts of whatever sub
ject the idea is applied to ; whether it be a solid
1

substance, as a billiard ball, or the unsolid space

which measures the distance between onebilliard
ball and another ; the idea of measure being, in
deed , the most obvious idea we can form of it.
In both which cases we determine the relative

* See Edin . Rev. No. xl. p. 468.

 170 ONN THE HYPOTHE
SIS

proportions of the length, breadth, and thickness

by the eye, by the touch , or by both : and ac
quire, so far as I can see to the contrary, not
withstanding all that has been said upon the sub
ject, as clear an idea as we do of substance. It
is first obtained, I grant, from the sight or touch
of what is solid alone ; and it is afterwards made
use of in a more abstract form , as a measure of
what is unsolid ; whence the mind is able to
apply it not only to the subject of pure space,
but to a contemplation of circles, triangles, poly
gons, or any other geometrical figure, even though
such figures be not present to the senses, and
exist alone in its own conceptions. . .
Extension , by the Cartesian school, was only
applied to solid substance , or body ; butthen they
supposed the universe to consist of nothing but
solid substance, or body, and that there is no
such thing as vacuum , or pure space. Among
the Newtonians, who admit space, extension is
applied as generally to this latter as to the former ;
but in order to avoid the confusion to which the
application of this term to things so totally op
posite as matter and space has produced in com
mon discourse, Mr. Locke advises to appropriate
the term extension to body, and expansion to
space ; using both these terms, however, as per
fect synonyms, and as equally importing the
simple idea of measure ; which, as I have just
observed, is the most obvious and explanatory
idea that can be offered upon this subject.
 OF COMMON SENSE . 171

- Widely different, however, is the opinion of

the metaphysical school of North Britain ; and
hence, in order to account for these abstruse
ideas, to which they affirm that neither our senses
nor our reason can give rise, as also in order to
compel our belief that the external world exists
in every respect precisely AS IT APPEARS TO
EXIST, and that external bodies possess in them
selves all the qualities, both primary and second
ary, which THEY APPEAR TO POSSESS, and thus,
with one wide sweep , to clear the ground as well
of the errors of Des Cartes, Newton, and Locke,
as of those of Berkeley and Hume; Dr. Reid ,
who, atone time, had been a follower of Berkeley,
and, as he himself tells us, “ had embraced the
whole of his system * ,” steps forth with his new
theory, the more important doctrines of which
may be comprised under the four following
heads :
I. There exist in the mind of man various
ideas or conceptions, both physical and metaphy
sical, which we have never derived either from
sensation or reflection .
II. There must therefore exist, somewhere or
other in the animal frame, a third percipient prin
ciple , from which alone such ideas can have been
derived .
III. From this additional principle there is no
appeal : it is higher in its knowledge, and surer

* See Dugald Stewart's Essays, note E . p . 548.,and com

pare with ch . i. pp .62, 63.
 172 ON THE HYPOTHESIS

in its decision, than either the senses or the rea

son ; it compels our assent in a variety of cases,
in which we should otherwise be left in themost
distressing doubt ; and gives us an assurance, not
only that there is an external world around us,
but that the primary and secondary qualities of
bodies exist equally and uniformly in the bodies
themselves, or, in other words, that every thing
actually is as it appears to be.
IV . This mandatory or superior principle is
COMMON SENSE or INSTINCT.
And in order to insure himself success in the
establishment of the doctrines contained in this
outline, Dr. Reid , with a warmer devotion than
falls to the lot ofmetaphysicians in general, and
in some degree breathing of poetic inspiration,
opens his Inquiry with the following animated
prayer : “ Admired philosophy ! daughter of
light ! parent of wisdom and knowledge ! if thou
art she ! surely thou hast not yet arisen upon the
human mind, nor blessed us with more of thy
rays than are sufficient to shed a darkness visible
upon the human faculties, and to disturb that
repose and security which happiermortals enjoy,
who never approached thine altar, nor felt thine
influence ! But if, indeed, thou hast not power
to dispel those clouds and phantoms which thou
hast discovered or created , withdraw this penu
rious and malignant ray : I despise philosophy,
and renounce its guidance : let my soul dwell
with common sense.”
 OF COMMON SENSE . 1773

How far this petition was attended to, and the

prostrate suppliant was enabled to obtain his
object, we shall now proceed to examine.
It is not necessary again to enquire whether the
abstruse ideas of extension , figure, and motion ,
time and space, together with various others of
the same kind, can or cannot be derived from
mental reflection or external sensation . I have
already touched upon the subject, and must refer
such of my audience as are desirous of entering
into it more deeply to the writings of Locke and
Tucker on the one side, and of Reid and Stew
art on the other . I shall only observe, in ad
dition, thatMr. Stewart himself admits, with that
liberality which peculiarly characterises his pen ,
that the ideas or notions of extension and figure,
which he somewhat quaintly denominates “ the
mathematical affections of matter," presuppose
the exercise of our external senses. * But this
being admitted , they ought, if not derived from
their immediate action , to be fundamentally de
pendent upon them .
Let us step forward at once to an investigation
of the newly discovered and sublime principle
itself, by which all these profundities are to be
fathomed, and all the aberrations of sense and
reason to be corrected.
Many of my hearers will perhaps smile at the
idea that this high and mighty principle is noth
ing more than common sense ; but, in truth , the

* Essays, vol.i. p . 95.

 1774 ON THE HYPOTHESIS

founder and supporters of the northern system

seem to have been woefully at a loss, not only
what name to give it, but what nature to bestow
upon it ; and have hence variously, and at times
most cloudily and incongruously, described it,
and loaded it with as many names and titles as
belong to a Spanish grandee or a Persian prime
minister .
“ If,” says Dr. Reid , “ there are certain prin
ciples, as I think there are, which the constitu
tion of our nature leads us to believe, and which
we are under a necessity to take for granted in .
the common concerns of life, without being able
to give a reason for them , these are what we call
the principles of COMMON SENSE ." * .
Upon this passage I shall only, for the present,
remark , that the new percipient faculty , which
it is the object of the Scottish theory to discover
to us, is one, as we have just been told , that is
capable of extending its survey far beyond “ the
common concerns of life," and of forming ideas
of the mathematical affections of matter ; and
consequently that if the principles of common
sense be limited, as they seem to be here, and
in my judgment correctly so , to “ the common
concerns of life,” they can never answer the
purpose to which this faculty aspires, and for
which it is started in the present hypothesis ;
which demands not only a common sense, but a
moraland a mathematicalsense ; andall essentially

* Inquiry, p . 52.
 OF COMMON SENSE . 175

distinct from and totally independent of corporeal

sensation and mental intelligence.
It is much to be regretted , however, and
forms an insuperable objection to the whole hy
pothesis, that its founders have never been able
to agree among themselves upon the nature of
their new principle.
“ The power or faculty,” says Dr. Reid , “ by
which we acquire these conceptions, ( those of
extension, motion , and the other attributes of
matter,) must be something different from any
power of the human mind that hath been ex
plained , since it is neither sensation nor re
flexion ." *
This is loosely written ; for it seems to intimate
that there may be conceptions or ideas in the
mind derived from or dependent on itself, which
are not conceptions or ideas of reflexion : while
the phrase ideas of reflexion, as employed in
Locke's system , embraces ideas of every kind
of which the mind is or can be conscious, and
which issue from any powers of its own.
Dugald Stewart gives the same doctrine more
correctly as follows, and as a paraphrase upon
this very passage : “ That we have notions of
external qualities which have no resemblance to
our sensations, or to any thing of which the mind
is conscious, is therefore a fact of which every
man's experience affords the completest evidence,
and to which it is not possible to oppose a single

* Reid , ch . v . sect. vii.

 176 ON THE HYPOTHESIS

objection, but its incompatibility with the com

mon philosophical theories concerning the origin
of our knowledge .” *
But the question still returns, from what source
then are these insensible, unintellectual notions
derived ? Where is the seat, and what is the
meaning of that COMMON SENSE which is to
solve every difficulty ? As these philosophers
make a boast of their experimentum crucis, this
is an experimentum crucis in return to them ; nor
does there seem to be an individual through the
whole school that is able to work out a solution,
or to offer any definite idea upon the subject.
I have already observed upon the looseness of
Reid , who, in the passage just quoted, seems still
to have a slight inclination to regard his principle
of COMMON SENSE as a power of the MIND , and
of course as seated in themental organ ; though
a power that has not hitherto been explained .
In the following passage he seems to regard it
as a power of the external senses, and hence as
seated in these senses themselves.
“ The account which this system (Hume's)
gives of our judgment and belief concerning
things, is as far from the truth as the account it
gives of our notions or simple apprehensions.
It represents our SENSES ashaving no other office
but that of furnishing the mind with notions or
simple apprehensions of things ; and makes our
judgment and belief concerning those things to

* Essays, vol. i. p . 549.

 OF COMMON SENSE . 177

be acquired by comparing our notions together,

and perceiving their agreements or disagree
ments. We have shown , on the contrary, that
EVERYOPERATION OF THE SENSES, in its very nature,
implies JUDGMENT or BELIEF as well as simple
apprehension.” *
Yet, in a third passage, he tells us still more
openly, that common sense belongs neither to the
mind nor to the corporeal senses, but is “ A PART
OF HUMAN NATURE WHICH HATH NEVER BEEN
EXPLAINED !” +
Dr. Beattie, on the contrary, who assigns to
the phrase Common Sense a much more scholastic
import than Dr. Reid appears to have intended ,
expressly asserts that Common Sense, as he un I .

derstands its signifies “ that POWER OF THE MIND

which perceives truth or commands belief, not
by progressive argumentation , but by an instan
taneous and INSTINCTIVE IMPULSE ; or, as he
says on another occasion , “ it is INSTINCT and
not REASON .” S While Mr. Stewart, still more
decisively, declares it to be the coMMON REASON
of mankind ; in express contradiction , how
ever, to Dr. Reid , who as positively declares the
principles of Common Sense to consist of those
principles which we are under a necessity of

* Inquiry, ch.vii. p . 480.

+ Ibid. ch . v. lect. iii. p. 115. edit. 1785.
I On Truth , part i. ch . i. p. 1] .
§ Id . part ii. ch . i.
|| Essay ii. p. 60.
VOL. III.
 178 ON THE HYPOTHESIS

taking for granted, without being able TO GIVE A

REASON FOR THEM ." * in rin
Now , whether this third principle reside in the
senses or in the mind, so long as it resides in
either of them , and constitutes a part of either
of them , the argument which they call their
experimentum crucis falls instantly to the ground ;
for the ideas to which it gives rise must be sen .
sitive or mental ideas, or, in other words, ideas
of sensation or of reflexion .
Dr. Beattie 's expression of instinctive impulse
resulting from a power of the mind, is still more
objectionable ; for instinct is not a power of the
mind, but a powermeant to supply the place of a
mind where no mind is present, or in energy :
and always acting most strikingly where there
is least intelligence, as in the lowest ranks of
animals ; and perhaps still more obviously in
plants.'. This is to confound endowments instead
of to discriminate them . Nor is there less con
fusion in Dr. Reid 's accountof thematter ; which
is, " that every operation of the senses implies
JUDGMENT and BELIEF, as well as simple appre
hension :" for this is to transfer the mind itself
from the brain to the senses, as well as to make
a like transfer of the principle of common sense
to the same organs: it is to produce a chaos in
the constitution ofman, by jumbling every faculty
into an interference with every faculty . And yet
upon this very doctrine he stakes the whole truth

* Inquiry, p . 52.
 OF COMMON SENSE. . 179
or falsehood of his theory ; and Mr. Stewart

It is amusing, indeed , to run over the names,

titles, or distinctivemarksassigned to their newly
discovered principle by the leaders of the Com .
mon Sense school. For we have not only com
mon sense, instinctit, instinctive prescience t,
and instinctive propensity S ; but dictates of
nature ll, dictates of internal sensationſ, simple

furnished by the sensestt, inductive principle it,

constitution ofhuman nature SS, common under
standing||II, moral sense ,moral principle * * * ,
suggestions ttt, and , finally , inspiration : thus

: * Stewart's Essays, vol.i. p . 548.

it Beattie , part i. ch. ii. p . 28, stereotype edit. Stewart's
Essays, vol. i. pp. 66 . 87, 88 . 589.
# Reid's Inquiry , ch. vi. lect. xxiv. p .441.
§ Beattie on Truth , part i. ch. iii, lect. vii. p .63.
|| Ibid . part i. ch. ii. pp. 28. 32.
. 9 Ibid . p . 31.
· * * Stewart's Essays, vol. i. essay iii. p . 123.
tt Reid 's Inquiry, ch.vii. p .481.
If Ibid. ch . vi. lect. xxiv. p . 442.
$ $ Stewart, essay i. ch. i. p . 7. Reid , p . 391. Principles
of the Constitution , Beattie, part i. ch . ii. p . 29. Original
Principles of the Constitution , Reid , Ing. ch . vi. lect. xxiv .
pp . 428. 441.
· |||| Reid , chovi. lect. xx . p . 380.
· 99 Stewart, essay i. ch . iv.. p.44.; a phrase of Shaftes
bury, and adopted from him by Hutcheson.
* * ** Beattie , part i. ch. ii. 29.
+ + + Ibid . essay ii. ch . ii. p . 96 . Reid, ch . vi. lect. ii.
p . 157.
N 2
 180 ON THE HYPOTHESIS

putting this imaginary power, if not in the place

of a Bible, upon an equality with it.
The “ original and natural judgments" of this
faculty, says Dr. Reid, are the INSPIRATION OP
THE ALMIGHTY : “ they serve to direct us in the
common affairs of life, where our reasoning
faculty would leave us in the dark. They are
a part of our constitution : and all the discoveries
of our reason are grounded upon them . They
make up the common sense of mankind, and
what is manifestly contrary to any of those first
principles is what we call absurd .” *

* Reid , ch. vii. p .482.

In treating of the subject of instinct, I had occasion to
notice that Dr. Hancock, in a recent work of much moral
excellence, has taken the same generalized view of those
various powers, and has directly resolved the whole into an
immediate and continual flow of divine inspiration through
the agency of the Holy Spirit ; so that the lowest animal,
in its instincts, and the most gifted saint, in his special illu
mination, are supplied from one and the same intellec
tual fountain . And hence, in Dr. Hancock ' s view , this is a
power or energy which not only serves “ to direct us in the
COMMON affairs of life , where our reasoning faculty would
leave us in the dark,” but to enlighten us in the sublime
mysteries of spiritual truth . - In the samemanner as the
Divine Being has scattered the seeds of plants and vege
tables in the body of the earth , so he has implanted a por
tion of his own incorruptible seed , or of that which in Scrip
ture language is called the seed of the kingdom ,' in the
soul of every individual of the human race." Essay on In
stinct, p . 459. And hence, though Dr. Hancock is obliged
to “ admit that there are no innate ideas, according to the
strictmeaning of the term , and no formally inscribed truths
like established propositions to be discovered in early life, -
 OF COMMON SENSE . 181

Now , what is to be collected from all this

pompous heraldry of high -sounding names, so
totally inconsistent with the precision of an exact
s

yet it is fair to presume that the rudiments or inherent pro

pensities leading to mental and corporeal perfection, are still
essentially in existence . Hence, because we cannot discover
in the infant mind the manifest signs of an original innate
truth or conception that there is a God , and the simple pro
positions relative to moral and religious duty, we are not to
conclude that it has no tendency to develope these notions."
- Ibid . p . 314 , 315 .
We have here a clear example of the difficulty of keep
ing an hypothesis within due limits that has no fixt principles
to be built upon. So far , however, as these writers appeal
to Scripture in support of their doctrine of a moral sense ,
or instinctive love of virtue, propensity to moral right, inter
nal light or innate idea of God , they seem to be opposed by
every page to which they refer. For whatever man may
become by a gradual cultivation of his mental powers, or
by immediate irradiation from heaven , we are expressly told ,
what, indeed, we have sufficient proofs of if we look around
us, and especially into savage tribes, that by nature.his
“ heart is desperately wicked ;" that shortly after the fall,
God beheld that “ the wickedness of man,was great on the
earth , and that every imagination of the thoughts of his
heartwas only evil continually ;" that “ in the flesh dwelleth
no good thing ;" that men by nature are under " the domi,
nion of sin ," — whose power is so great as to constitute as it
were a “ Law in the members,” — and a law so active and
hostile to every good principle, as to be for ever “ .warring
against the law of the mind” when enlightened by a divine
revelation , and even gifted, as St. Paul was, when he wrote
this of himself, as well as of others, with the power of the
Holy Spirit. And it is hence St. Paul tells us farther, that
mankind , in their natural state , instead of being children of
light, with innate tendencies or propensities to govd, have a
N 3
 182 ON THE HYPOTHESIS

science ; and which certainly would not have

been allowed had this school been able to settle
among themselves, or to communicate to the
public, a clear idea of the seat, nature, or at
tributes of the new , and as I trust to prove ,
imaginary faculty it thus ventures to introduce ;
and which, after all, is only intended to supply
the place of the innate ideas of M . Des Cartes,
as these innate ideas were designed to supply

heart at “ enmity against God ;” and “ are children of

wrath.” Whilst, instead of referring us to any kind of præ
cognita , inbred notions, or instinctive suggestions, in proof
of the existence and attributes of a deity , St. Paul, like
Locke, sends us to the works of nature and of providence ;
to the world without instead of to the world within us ; and to
the exercise of our own senses in relation to them : “ for
the invisible things of God, from the creation of the world ,
ARE CLEARLY SEEN, being understood by THE THINGS THAT
ARE MADE, even his ETERNAL POWER and GODHEAD .” And
these proofs are so manifest, and the duties they enjoin so
easily deducible , as to form a law of nature, “ a law unto
themselves,” in the minds of those who attend to them , and
have no revealed law , - a conscience of what is right and
wrong ; so as to leave the whole world , as he farther adds,
“ without excuse,” for not acquiring this knowledge, and
this natural law . It is to the same BOOK OF NATURE, and
for the same purpose, that the Psalmist leads himself in
Ps. viii. 3 . 6 When I consider the heavens , the work of thy
hands : the moon and the stars which thou hast ordained ;"
and to which he leads every one else , in Ps. xix . 1 - 3. And to
what but the samedivine yet external proof does our Saviour
lead us in Matt . vi. 28 . “ CONSIDER the lilies of the field ,
how they grow ,” & c. as well as in numerous other places?
- external objects generally forming a text to the divine
comment of him who “ spake as never man spake."
 OF COMMON SENSE . 183

the place of the intelligible world of the Greek

schools ?
“ It is hardly possible for us,” says Dr. Beat
tie, “ to explain these dictates of our nature
according to common sense and common expe
rience, in such language as shall be liable to
no exception . The misfortune is, that many
of the words we must use, though extremely
well understood, are either too simple or too
complex in their meaning to admit a logical de
finition.” * But the plain fact is, that they have
not come to any definite meaning amongst them
selves. t Let us then just give a glance at the
* Ibid . Part i. ch. ii. 32. '.
+ The phrases KOINAI AOEAI or common sentiments, of
Aristotle, Premières Vérités or Primary Truths of Buffier,
or even Innate Ideas of Des Cartes, whatever be the truth
or fallacy of the doctrines they impart, are far less excep
tionable than that of Common Sense , as being far less cap
able of being misunderstood. Attempts have been made
to support this phrase by a reference to its employment by
other writers, and even in the Latin tongue ; and poets as
well as metaphysicians have been brought forward with
their suffrages. But all this is to no purpose, unless it could
be proved that such writers had used it in the samemeaning
as the chief supporters of thepresent hypothesis, and that this
meaning was one and indivisible. Mr. Stewart has felt him
self particularly called upon to admit the loose and un
settled character of Dr. Beattie's language, and especially
in one of his accounts of Common Sense , which he declares
" is liable to censure in almost every Knę.” . Elem . ch . i.
lect. iii. p . 83. : while Dr. Reid, on the very same subject,
has been far more roughly handled both by the English tran
slator of Buffier, and by Sir James Stewart, ibid . p . 88.
" One unluckly consequence ,” observes Mr. Stewart,
“ has unquestionably resulted from the coincidence of so
N 4
184 ON THE HYPOTHESIS

two leading terms, for it is hardly worth while

to follow up the whole of them . These are
common sense and instinct : both of which seem
by Dr. Reid , and in various places by Dr. Beattie
and Mr. Dugald Stewart, to be used in their
popular import. Can any man for a moment,
who has the slightest knowledge of physiology
and philology, seriously admit that common sense
and instinct are the same thing ? or rather ought
to be confounded under the same term ? Do
these writers believe so themselves, whenever
they form any clear and precise idea of these
faculties in their own minds ? « Common sense, ”
says Mr. Dugald Stewart, is “ the common

many writers connected with this northern part of the island,

in adopting, about the same period, the same phrase , as a
sort of philosophical watch -word : — that, although their
views differ widely in various respects, they have in general
been classed together as partisans of a new sect, and as mu
tually responsible for the doctrines of each other . It is
easy to perceive the use likely to be made of this accident
by an uncandid antagonist.” — Ibid . p . 89.
I have endeavoured as much as possible to avoid being
open to any such charge, by confining my remarks to a few
alone of the pillars of the school before us ; and by select
ing alone those who, from personal friendship and confiden
tial acquaintance with each other's thoughts, are universally
regarded as being both the most accordant and ablest de
fendants of their hypothesis. And if, among writers so
closely united, discrepancies of doctrine or opinion should
be frequent and flagrant, the only deduction that can be
drawn from so unhappy a fact is, that the hypothesis cannot
be made to hold true to itself, and is faulty in its first prin
ciples.
 OF COMMON SENSE . 185 .

reason of mankind * :" and every man of com

mon sense will, I suppose, accede to this defi
nition. But common sense, says Dr. Reid , as
though in direct opposition to Mr. Stewart, is
not reason : for it is that principle which com
pels us “ to take things for granted , without being
able to give a reason for them .” + “ Common
sense ,” says Dr. Beattie, « is an instinctive im
pulse . Common sense is not reason ,but instinct.
It is instinct, and not reason , that determines
me to believe my touch ; it is instinct, and not
reason, that determinesmeto believe that visible
sensations, when consistentwith tangible, are not
fallacious : and it is either instinct or reasoning
founded on experience that is, on the evidence of
sense that determines me to believe theman's sta
ture a permanent and not a changeable thing." ;
Now , the first thing that cannot fail to strike
us, on comparing these passages together, is the
contradictory definitions they contain ; the sin
gular confusion which runs through the whole
of them in respect to the three ideas of reason ,
common sense, and instinct ; and the acknow
ledged difficulty the writers feel of drawing a
line between the first and the two last of these
principles, upon which, however, the whole sys
tem of the new philosophy hinges. Surely « if
reasoning, founded on experience, ” which is the
very language of Mr. Locke as well as of
* Essay ii. p .60.
+ Inquiry, ch . ii. lect. vi.
# Essay on Truth , part ii. ch. i. p . 95.
186 ON THE HYPOTHESIS

Dr. Beattie, be sufficient to determine us, and

is probably the principle actually appealed to in
one case of external sensation , it may well be
sufficient, and be thought the principle actually
appealed to in all others. :
The next remark that must, I think , occur to
every one, is the absurdity of clothing instinct
with moral and intellectual powers, with belief
and judgment : for we are, in other places, told
that this instinct,of common sense possesses sen
timent and moral sense. Now , all these import
the existence of a mind ; they import more, for
they import mental feeling. And the conse
quence is, that we must either employ the term
instinct without a determinate idea, and in oppo
site significations at different times, or we must
allow to reptiles, and ought to allow to plants,
the possession of belief, judgment, and mental
feeling, as wellas to mankind; for the existence of
instinct is still clearer and more powerful in the
firsttwo than in the last. I know there is no attend
ant upon these lectures who finds any necessity for
this confusion of ideas : and who does not appre
hend perspicuously , from the definitions I have
ventured to lay down, and have so frequently had
occasion to repeat, the natural distinction be
tween the principles here adverted to . But let
a man, if it be possible for him ,believe that com
mon sense and instinct are the same thing, can
he still farther believe that this is the faculty , call
it by which of the two names you please, that is
to be an infallible guide in physicaland metaphy
 . OF COMMON SENSE . 187
sical, in sensible and intellectual, in moral and
theological perplexities ; where the finest per
ception falls short, and the most penetrating
mind is overwhelmed ? Is it this which is to teach
us the mathematical affections of matter ; and to
direct us in our duty towards God, our neigh
bours, and ourselves ? I again refer to Mr. Stew
art's own description of the boy, born nearly
blind , and wholly deaf, to which I have refer
red already. .. . i ii :
· If this high and domineering power be instinct,
then let us turn , with due reverence, to those
quarters where instinct exists in its fullest per
fection ; let us pay due homage to the brutal and
the vegetable tribes. Let us return to the pretty
prattle of the nursery, and learn industry from
the ant, and geometry from the bee, and con
stancy from the dove, and innocence from the
snow -drop, and blushing modesty from the rose.
Let us hail all these, not indeed as our equals, but
as our superiors ; as more richly endowed with
that « inspiration of the Almighty, " which is
designed to correct the errors of sense and intel
ligence, and to soar to sublimities to which these
can never attain . '
But let us part with the term INSTINCT, and
confine ourselves to that of COMMON SENSE . Why
is this idea set up as a distinct principle from
reason ? as a principle often opposed to it, and
always superior to it ? Common sense is plain
sense : the common judgment of mankind upon
subjects of common comprehension , sometimes
188 ON THE HYPOTHESIS

given intuitively, and sometimes by the exercise

of reason, both of which, as I have already shown ,
are alike mental processes. And Mr. Stewart has
hence, as lately noticed , freely denominated it
in one place, though in my mind most incon
gruously with respect to his own system “ the
common reason of mankind .” Its proper limit
is the common concerns of life, and while it
confines itself to these it is nearly infallible ; for
the common constitution of our nature must, in
most cases, lead us to one common result. When
the legislature of our own country, ( in which this
principle exists with peculiar force, ) appeals to
the general voice of thepeople, it appeals to their
common sense. But in doing this, does it appeal
to their instinct, or to any other faculty than their
common reason ; that discursive power, which , by
being better exercised here than among other na
tions, has enriched them with sounder and more
generalinformation upon the subjectin question ?
Common sense, however, must be confined to
common subjects. Like the ostrich , it is quick
and powerful on the surface, but its wings are
not plumed for flight, and it plays a ridiculous
part whenever it attempts to soar. When Co.
pernicus, with a trembling hand , first suggested
that the sun stands fixed in his place, and all
the heavenly bodies move round him , common
sense, assuming the philosopher, to which cha
racter it has no pretensions, opposed him , and
science fell a sacrifice to its conceit. With the
same foolish vanity it denied , till laughed out of
 OF COMMON SENSE . 189

its folly by circumnavigation, the existence of

antipodes ; or that the surface of the earth, which
appears to be a plane, could be spherical, and
thatmen and women of our own shape and make
could exist on its reverse side, with their feet
opposed to our own. When the Dutch ambas.
sador told the king of Siam , who had never seen
or heard of such a thing as frost, that the water
in his country would sometimes in cold weather
be so hard , that men might walk , and bullocks
be roasted upon it, his well-known answer was
delivered upon the principles of common sense.
He spoke from what he had seen, and from what
every one had seen around him , and he relied
upon the common appearances of nature. “ Hi
therto, " said he, “ I have believed the strange
things you have told me, because I looked upon
you as an honestman ; butnow I am sure you are
a liar.” Yet this is the faculty held up in the
system before us as a sure and infallible judge,
whose office it is to correct the errors of reason ,
and to prove to us that every thing exists pre
cisely AS IT APPEARS TO EXIST.*

* Dr. Beattie has adopted this precise line of reasoning

under the influence of his Common Sense principles : and
points out, by analogy, that the opinion of the Siamese mo
narch was founded upon a basis which nothing could shake,
or ought to shake ; for the only appeal that any opposing
evidence could make to him must have been through the
medium of his reason , which is a less infallible judge than
common sense , and hence less worthy of attention . “ Com
mon sense,” says he, “ tells me that the ground on which I
stand is hard, material, and solid . - Now , if my common
190 E HHYYPPOOTTHHESIS
ON T'HHE
ESIS

- How much clearer, and to the purpose , is the

explanation of this subject given by the excellent
bishop Butler, and how perfectly in 'unison with
the language ofMr. Locke ! - That which ren
dersbeings,' sayshe, “ capable ofmoral govern
ment, is their having a moral nature and moral
faculties of perception and action . Brute crea
tures are impressed and actuated by various in
stincts and propensions : so also are we. But ad
ditionalto this we have A CAPACITY OF REFLECTING
upon actionsand characters, and making them an
object to our thought ; and ON OUR DOING THIS ,
we naturally and unavoidably approve some
actions, and disapprove others, as vicious and
of ill-desert. — It is manifest that a great part of
common language and of common behaviour over
the world is formed upon the supposition of such
A MORAL FACULTY ; whether called conscience,
moral reason ,moral sense, or divine reason ; whe.
ther considered as a sentiment of the understand
ing or a perception of the heart, or which seems

sense be mistaken,who shall ascertain and correct the mis

take ? Our reason, it is said . Are then the inferences of
reason, in this instance, clearer and more decisive than the
dictates of common sense ? By no means. I still trust to
my common sense as before, and I feel that Í must do so.
But supposing the inferences of the one faculty as clear and
decisive as the dictates of the other ; yet who shall assure
me that my reason is less liable to mistake than my common
sense ? — In a word, no doctrine ought tobebelieved as true
that EXCEEDS BELIEF AND CONTRADICTS A FIRST PRINCIPLE.”
On Truth , part i. ch. i.
 OF COMMON SENSE . . 191

the truth , as including both .” * Here we have

laid down a firm and impregnable basis : it is the
capacity of reflexion : an arrival at the intrinsic
nature of natural and moral good, and natural
and moral evil, through the operation of our own
reason : ~ that faculty of reason , which the same
distinguished writer, instead of despising or un
dervaluing, expressly calls in another place, after
Solomon , “ the candle of the Lord ; " butwhich
he adds, " can afford no light where it does not
shine, nor judge where it has no principles to
judge upon.''t
With this remark I feel that I might safely
drop this part of the argument : but as I have
referred Mr. Stewart to his own description of
the blind and deaf boy, in refutation of his view
of the powers and duties of the external senses,
I will, in like manner, refer Dr. Reid to Dr. Reid
himself in refutation of the doctrine immediately
before us, that every thing exists precisely as it
appears to exist. In page 173 . of his chapter on
the quality of colours, he tells us, that the colour
of the body is in the body itself - a scarlet rose
being as much a scarlet in the dark as in the
day ; but that the apparition or appearance of
the colour is in the eye or the mind. But when
he tells us this, does he not tell us in as plain
terms as can be used, that the object and its appa
rition or appearance are in a state of separation
* Analogy of Religion , Natural and Revealed : Dissert. ij.
of the Nature of Virtue.
+ Ibid . part ii. Conclusion.
192 ON THE HYPOTHESIS

from each other ? that they are two distinct

2

things, and exist in two distinct places ? and

consequently that, instead of every thing BEING
as IT SEEMS TO BE, nothing has a being either as it
seems to be, or where it seems to be ? Nay, does
he not, in spite of himself, adopt the very doc
trine of Aristotle and Des Cartes, both of whom
held the same tenet ? the former, indeed, calling
this separate apparition a phantasm , which is a
mere change of the Latin term apparition into a
Greek word. * .
But where, let me again ask , is the residence,
and what is the nature of this many-titled
faculty , which is neither sense nor mind ; and
is thus capable of discerning what neither sense
nor mind can comprehend ? Every other prin
ciple or faculty has its peculiar seat, and we

* “ The scarlet-rose which is beforeme is still a scarlet .

rose when I shut my eyes, and was so at midnightwhen no
eye saw it. The colour remainswhen the appearance ceases :
it remains the samewhen the appearance changes. To a
person in the jaundice it has still another appearance : but
he is easily convinced that the change is in his eye, and not
in the colour of the object. When a coloured body is pre
sented , there is a certain APPARITION to the eye or to the
mind, which we have called the appearance of colour. Mr.
Locke calls it an idea, and, indeed , it may be called so with
the greatest propriety . Hence the appearance is, in the
imagination, so closely united with the quality called a
scarlet colour, that they are apt to be mistaken for one and
the same thing, although they are in reality so different and
so unlike, that one is an idea in the mind, the other is a
quality of body.” – Inquiry, & c. ch . vi. lect. iv . pp. 172,
173. 175. edit. 4 . Lond . 1785 .
 OF COMMON SENSE . . 193

know how to track it to its form . Instinct is

the operation of the power of organized life by
the exercise of certain natural laws, directing
it to the perfection of the individual; and
wherever organized life is to be found there is
instinct. Irritation exists in the muscular fibre
sensation in nervous cords ; intelligence in the
gland of the brain : for there is its seat, what
ever may be its essence. But where is the
seat, and what is the nature of this new prin
ciple ? Is it capable of a separate existence ?
Does it expire with the body ? Or does it ac
company and still direct the soul after death ?
These are important questions; what is the
answer to them ? Or is there any other to be
found than that of Dr. Reid already noticed ?
« Common sense is a part of human nature
which hath never been explained." *
i And what, after all, is it designed to teach us ?
What is the number and the precise character
of those primary maxims, or instinctive notions,
or natural dictates, or inspired truths, or whatso
ever else they may be called, which form the
sum of its communication ? How are we to
know what is a genuine and infallible first prin
ciple fron. what has themere semblance of one
and is spurious ? Are the founders of the sys
tem agreed upon this subject among themselves ?
If so , they are far more fortunate than the
Cartesians upon the first principles, the mouvai
* Inquiry, ch . v. sect.iij. p . 115.
VOL . III. 0
194 ON THE HYPOTHESIS

Xvvolo of their own school. If they be not,

their foundation slips from them in a moment,
and all is wild and visionary ; and every one
may find a first principle in what his own
fancy may suggest, or his own inclination lead
him to. Yet we have no proof that any such
convention has ever been settled ; nor has any
individual been bold enough to furnish a cata
logue from the repository of his own endowment.
In few words, the whole of this hypothesis
is nothing more than an attempt to revive the,
Cartesian scheme, so far as relates to, per
haps, the most obnoxious part of it, the doc
trine of innate ideas, but to revive it under
another name. Beattie and Stewart have in fact
indirectly admitted as much , though neither of
them have chosen to avow the design openly .
The worst and most dangerous part of Mr.
Locke's system , in the opinion of Dr. Beattie,
is his first book that very book in which this
doctrine meets with its death-blow . While Mr.
Stewart, notwithstanding the contempt with
which he professes to treat this fanciful tenet of
innate ideas, asserts almost immediately after
wards, that his chief objection to it consists in
its name, and the absurdities that have been
connected with it * ; and adds, that “ perhaps
hemight even venture to say," if separated from
these, it would agree in substance with the
conclusion he had been attempting to establish .t
* Essay iii. p . 120 .
+ " Perhaps Imight even venture to say that,were the am
biguous and obnoxious epithet innate laid aside, and all the
 OF COMMON SENSE . 195
It was my intention to have pursued this hy .
pothesis in another direction , and to have
pointed out its decisive tendency to an encour
agement of mental indolence and immorality ;
a tendency, however, altogether unperceived by
the uncorrupt and honourable minds of its
justly eminent leaders. But our time has al
ready expired, and Imust leave it to yourselves
to calculate at home, what must be the neces
sary result of a theory, provided it could ever
be seriously embraced upon an extensive scale ,
that teaches, on the one hand, that intelligence
is subordinate to instinct, and that our truest
knowledge is that which is afforded by the
dictates of nature, without trouble or exertion ;
and on the other, that our moral sense is iden .
tical with our instinctive propensities ; and that
the constitution of our nature is an infallible
guide, and can never lead us amiss. This
mischievous, but unquestionably unforeseen ten
dency of the theory of common sense , I must
leave you to follow up at your leisure ; but I
cannot quit this subject without once more ad .
verting to the total failure of this theory, in ac

absurdities discarded which are connected either with the

Platonic, with the Scholastic , or with the Cartesian hypo.
thesis, concerning the nature of ideas, this last theory (“ the
antiquated theory of innate ideas," as he has just above
called it, and to which he here refers,) would agree in sub
stance with the conclusion which I have been attempting to
establish by an induction of facts." - Phil. Essay üi. p . 120.
4to . 1810 .
02
196 ON THE HYPOTHESIS

complishing the chief point for which it was

devised, I mean that of engaging us to believe,
in opposition to the philosophical vagaries of
the Bishop of Cloyne and Mr. Hume, as well as
of the earlier idealists, not only that the ex
ternal world has a substantive existence, but
that it substantively exists in every respect as it
APPEARS to exist. I have already observed ,
that while Dr. Berkeley was contending meta
physically that we have no proof of a material
world , because we have no proof of any thing
but the existence of our own minds and ideas,
M . Boscovich was contending physically, that we
have no proof that matter contains any of the
qualities which it APPEARS to contain ; that
whatever the OSTENSIBLE FORMS of bodies may
present to us, it has in itself no such properties
as they seem to exhibit ; that the whole
visible creation is nothing more than a collec
tion of indivisible, unextended atoms, or mere
mathematical points, whose only attributes are
certain powers of attraction and repulsion , and
consequently that every thing we behold is A
MERE PHÆNOMENON , AN APPARITION , and no
thing more .
Now , meaning to oppose this doctrine, and
every doctrine of a similar import, could it be
supposed possible, if the fact did not stare us in
the face from his own writings, that Dr. Reid
) W
would after all avow and contend , not indeed for
the same, but for a parallel tenet, and support it
almost in the same terms ? Could it be supposed
 OF COMMON SENSE . 197

that he would tell us, as we have already seen

he has told us, that every object has its AP
PARITION ; that the object is one thing and
its APPARITION another ; that the object is IN
ONE PLACE and its apparition IN ANOTHER ; and
that neither the mind nor the eye behold the
object itself, but only its APPARITION , or AP
PEARANCE, its PHANTASM or PHÆNOMENON ?
But I have to draw still more largely upon
your astonishment; for it yet remains for me to
inform you, that Mr. Dugald Stewart, who may
be regarded as the key- stone of Dr. Reid 's
system , and the chief aim of whose writings has
been to proscribe the hypothesis of Berkeley,
has himself fallen , not unintentionally , as Dr.
Reid seems to have done, but openly and
avowedly , into a modification of Boscovich 's
hypothesis ; and has even brought forward its
more prominent principles “ as necessary ,” I
I adopt his own terms, “ to complete Dr. Reid 's
speculations." * He labours, indeed , to prove,
that the two hypotheses, of Berkeley and Bos
covich, have no resemblance or connexion with
each other ; and I am ready to admit, that in
some respects there is a difference, since Bos
covich allows us a visionary material world , a
world of apparitions, or orderly phænomena, in
the language of Leibnitz phenomenes bien réglés,
while Berkeley allows usnomaterial world what
ever ; though he, too, has his world of phæno

* Essay ii. ch . ii. p .80., and compare with ch .i.pp.62, 63.

0 3
· 198 HYPOTHESIS OF COMMON SENSE .

mena : but I must contend that they are, to all

intents and purposes, alike in their opposition to
that tenet, which it is the leading feature of Reid ' s
theory to establish , - I mean that we have an in
ternal principle , that proves to us that the world
around us is not a vain show but a solid
REALITY, and that every thing actually is as it
n
appears to be. So that the theory before us, even
in the hands of its founder and principal sup
porter, has strikingly failed in the object for
which it was devised ; and, for all the purposes
in question , the former might just as well have

principles, as have deserted them , and set up a

· new scheme for himself,
Under these circumstances I must leave it to
the enlightened audience before me, to choose
out of these different hypotheses as they may
think best. For myself I freely confess, that I
have no ambition to soar into the higher rank
and the infallible knowledge of an instinctive
creature, and shall modestly content myself
with the humbler character of a rational and
intelligent being, still steadily steering by the
lowly but sober lamps of a Bacon , a Newton ,
a Locke, a Butler, a Price, and a Paley, instead
of being captivated by the beautiful and bril
liant, but vacillating and illusive, coruscations of
these northern lights.
 199

LECTURE VII.
ON HUMAN HAPPINESS.

It has required, I apprehend, but a very slight

attention to the course of study we have lately
been following up, to be convinced of the truth
of the remark with which we opened the series,
- I mean , that the subject it proposed to discuss
is, of all subjects whatever that relate to human
entity , the most difficult and intractable. And
absurd and visionary as have been many of the
opinions which it has brought before us, let us,
in conclusion, check all undue levity , by recol
lecting that they are the absurdities and visions
of the first philosophers and sages of their re
spective periods ; of the wisest, and, with a few
exceptions, of the best of mankind ; to whom ,
in most other respects, we ought to bow with
implicit homage, and who have only foundered
from too daring a spirit of adventure, and
amidst rocks and shoals which laugh at the ex
perience of the pilot.
For myself, I freely confess to you, that my
own hopes of success are but very humble . I
have donemy best, however, to render the sub
ject intelligible ; and if in the progress of it I
should also have betrayed dreams and absurdi
04
200 ON HUMAN HAPPINESS .

ties, I have only to entreat that they may be

visited with the candour which I have endea
voured to extend to others ; fully aware that the
ablest arguments I have been able to submit are
not fitted, if I may adopt the eloquent words of
Mr. Burke, “ to abide the test of a captious con
troversy , but of a sober, and even forgiving ex
amination ; that they are not armed at all points
for battle, but dressed to visit those who are wil.
ling to give a peaceful entrance to truth."
There is one point, however, and the most im
portant point we have contemplated, in which all
the different schools seem to be agreed, I mean,
that of moral distinctions. Whatever may be the
roads the different travellers have lighted upon,
whether short or circuitous, smooth or entangled,
they all at last find themselves, in this respect,
arrive at the same central spot ; and coincide in
prescribing the same rules of duty , enjoining the
same conduct, and, with a few exceptions, deli
vering the same determinations. No philoso
pher in the world has ever dreamed of confound
ing virtue with vice, or of writing a treatise on
the benefit of committing crimes. Let us search
where we will, we shall find that there is a some
thing in human nature, when once emerged from
the barbarism of savage life, that leads the learned
and the unlearned to approve the one and to
condemn the other, even where their own con
duct is involved in the condemnation .
And what is this something in human nature
that conducts to so general a conclusion ? A
 ON HUMAN HAPPINESS. 201

set or system of innate ideas and first principles,

replies one class of philosophers ; a moral in
stinct or impulse of common sense , replies another
class ; the intrinsic loveliness and beauty of virtue
itself, replies a third ; because the attributes of
virtue are useful and agreeable either to our
selves or to others, replies a fourth ; because it
conducts to human happiness, replies a fifth ; and
because it is the will ofGod , replies a sixth .
But while all thus agree in the conclusion ,
the question that leads to it still returns upon us :
What proof have we of the existence of such
innate ideas or instinctive impulse ? of the in
trinsic beauty of virtue ? that it is useful to us,
productive of our happiness, or that it is the will
of God it should be cultivated ? or rather, what
proof have we that the original position is true,
and that there is a something in human nature
in general which induces us to prefer virtue to
vice ?
The original position is true, but the reasons
urged in support of it are neither equally true
nor equally adequate, even where they are true.
It is not true that we have either innate ideas or
moral instincts that impel us to a love of virtue ;
for in such cases the most savage tribes among
mankind would be themost virtuous ; their præ
cognita , or innate ideas, being but little disturbed
by foreign ideas, acquired by education or ex
tensive commercewith theworld , and their moral
instincts as little disturbed by foreign habits
acquired from the same causes.
 202 ON HUMAN HAPPINESS.

There has often arisen in the mind an unac . .

countable whim , of supposing that a savage life,
or state of nature, is the best and purest mode of
human existence ; and novellists, poets, and some
times even philosophers,have equally ranted upon
the paucity of its wants, the simplicity of its
pursuits, the solidity of its pleasures, and the
strength and constancy of its attachments. It
is here, we have been told , that the human soul
developes its proper energies, and displays itself
in all its native benevolence and dignity : here
all things belong equally to every one; the only
law is the will of the individual, the only feeling
a sublime, unselfish philanthropy. This whim
became epidemic in France about the beginning
of the French Revolution, and was, in fact, the
monster mania that led to it. And the contagion,
not long afterwards began to show itself among
many individuals of our own country, who, in
the height of their phrenzy, laboured earnestly
to promote the same kind of trials amongst our
selves that our neighbours were actually exhibit
ing. The history is fresh in the mind of every
one, and it is not necessary to pursue it. It is
sufficient to observe, that it led in a short time to
consequences so mischievous as to work their
own cure ; and to afford another living proof of
the fact I endeavoured pointedly to establish in
a late lecture, that barbarism , vice, and misery
are, by an immutable law of nature , the insepar
able associates of each other.* Throw your eyes
* Vol. II. Ser. II. Lect. XIII. -
 ON HUMAN HAPPINESS. 203

to whatever part of the globe or to whatever his

tory of mankind you please, and you will find it
so without an exception. Other animals have
instincts that control their appetites, and lead
them insensibly to the perfection of their respect
ive kinds ; that inculcate constancy where con
stancy is necessary, and compel them to provide
for and take the charge of their young. Man
has no such instincts whatever : he has reason,
indeed , a more ennobling and efficient faculty ,
but it must be called forth, for it is a dormant
principle in savage life. And hence, destitute of
the one, and uninfluenced by the other, he is
the perpetual slave of his ungoverned and ungo
vernable passions, and is the only animal in the
world that has been known to kill or abandon its
own offspring in a state of destitute and helpless
infancy ; and to murder its own kind for the
purpose of feasting upon it : a fact too well esta
blished to be doubted of ; and which , instead of
being confined to a single climate or a single
people, has apparently been common to all
countries, when under the influence of gross bar
barism ; which still exists among various tribes
in Africa, South America , and Australia, and
particularly among the islands of the South Sea,
and which , according to the concurrent testi
mony of the best Greek and Roman writers, as
Herodotus, Pliny, Strabo, and Pomponius Mela ,
was formerly to be traced among the Scythians,
Tartars, and Massagétæ of Asia , and the Lestri
gonsofEurope. Strabo, indeed, ascribes the same
 204 ON HUMAN HAPPINESS .

practice even to the Irish in his day, and Cælius

Rhodriginus to their neighbours of Scotland ;
while Thevenot asserts that, when he was in In
dia in 1665, human flesh was publicly sold in the
market at Debca, about forty leagues from Ba
roche.
Consentaneous to this view of the subject are
the following remarks of one of the most intelli
gent circumnavigators of the present day, M .
Von Langsdorff, which he gives as the result of
a personal and comprehensive survey of different
climates and countries : - " There is no creature
upon the earth , in any climate or zone, that bears
such an enmity to its own species as man . Let
us only, ” says he, “ cast our eyes over the history
of the globe, in the most barren wastes, and in
the most fertile countries, in the smallest islands,
or on the most extensive continents, among the
most savage as well as the most cultivated na
tions, in short, in every part of the world , where
ever man exists, and we shall find him seeking to
destroy his own species : he is every where by
nature harsh and cruel. The observations we
made upon these newly discovered islands (the
Polynesian ), which never, to the best of our
knowledge, had any intercourse with civilised
nations, and whose inhabitants may be considered
as children of nature, and as still in their original
condition , afford remarkable examples in confirm
ation of these assertions.
« The sweet and tender feelings of affection
and love, of friendship and attachment, even that
 ON HUMAN HAPPINESS . 205

of parents towards their children, and of children

towards their parents, I have , alas ! very seldom
found among a rude and uncivilised people.
The African hordes not only bring their pri
soners taken in battle but their own children to
market. The samething is done by the Kirgis,
the Kalmucs, and many other inhabitants of the
north -western coast of America ; and here at Na
katiwą (one of the islands of the South Sea ) a
woman would very readily have given a child at
her breast, which had been asked by us in jest, in
exchange for a piece of iron .” * And he might
have added, that it was the exposure of British ,
or rather perhaps of Saxon children for slaves in
the public market at Rome, as late as the close
of the sixth century, expressly sold for this pur
pose, by their own parents at their own homes,
that first induced that excellent prelate , Pope
Gregory I., to plan a mission for the conversion
of our barbarous forefathers to Christianity , from
the horror he felt at their conduct, and the pity :
with which he beheld the little outcasts.
In the view of history, therefore, as well as in
the language of Scripture, man, in a state of na
ture, is prone to evil, and his heart is desperately
wicked : or as it is given most exquisitely in the
poetical language of the Psalmist,
“ Behold the dark places of the earth
Are full of the habitations of cruelty !" +

* Von Langsdorff's Voyages and Travels, ch.vii. p . 139.

+ Psalm lxxiv. 20.
206 . ON HUMAN HAPPINESS.

The sentiment, then , that exists in human na

ture in favour of virtue, or a virtuous conduct,
though general, is not universal, and consequent
ly cannot proceed from any original instincts or
innate ideas. What, then, are the other causes to
which it has been ascribed by moralists ? The
intrinsic loveliness of virtue itself. Because its
attributes are generally useful and agreeable.
Because it conducts to human happiness . Be
cause it is the will of God .
Now all these answers, however diversified ,
may be resolved into two general ideas - human
happiness and the will of God : for we can only
regard that as lovely or an object of love which
contributes to our happiness : and we can only
regard that as usefulor agreeable which conduces
to the same end . . .
The subject, therefore, becomes considerably
narrowed, and the only substantial replies that
appear capable of being given to the question ,
What is the source of this general sentiment
among mankind in favour of virtue ? are, Be
cause it is the path to happiness ; or, Because it
is the will ofGod . .
Butmay not the subject be still farther nar
rowed, and both these replies be resolved into
one identical proposition ? may not human hap
piness and the will of God be the same thing ?
If so , we shall then only have to enquire far
ther, whether virtue be the real path to human
happiness ? for if it be, then , necessarily , he
who pursues that path obeys the will of God .
 ON HUMAN HAPPINESS. 207
Both questions are important : the first, how
ever, may be settled in a few words. To discover
the will of an intelligent agent, nothing more
is necessary than to examine the general drift or
tendency of his contrivance, so far as we are able
to make it out. Taking it, then , for granted,
that theworld is the work of an intelligent agent,
does it exhibit proof of having been devised for
the general accommodation and happiness of
man ? for his general misery, - or for neither ?
It cannot have been devised for neither, because
that would be to relinquish the very foundation
of our present position , and to deny that the
world exhibits contrivance, or has been formed
by an intelligent agent? Is, then, the world ,
with its general furniture, is the frame of man
itself calculated to promote man's happiness or
his misery ? It is impossible to answer this
question more strongly than in the words of
Archdeacon Paley :
" Contrivance proves design , and the pre
dominant tendency of the contrivance indicates
the disposition of the designer. The world
abounds with contrivances ; and all the contri
vances with which we are acquainted are directed
to beneficial purposes. Evil, no doubt, exists ;
but is never, that we can perceive, the object of
contrivance. Teeth are contrived to eat, not to
ache : their aching now and then is incidental
to the contrivance , perhaps inseparable from it ;
or even , if you will, let it be called a defect in
the contrivance ; but it is not the object of it.
 208 ON HUMAN HAPPINESS .

This is a distinction which well deserves to be

attended to . In describing implements of hus
bandry, you would hardly say of the sickle that
it is made to cut the reaper's fingers, though ,
from the construction of the instrument, and the
manner of using it, this mischief often happens.
But if you had occasion to describe instruments
of torture or execution , this engine, you would
say, is to extend the sinews ; this to dislocate
the joints ; this to break the bones ; this to scorch
the soles of the feet. Here pain and misery are
the very objects of the contrivance. Now , nothing
of this sort is to be found in theworks of nature.
Wenever discover a train of contrivance to bring
about an evil purpose. No anatomist ever dis
covered a system of organization calculated to pro
duce pain and disease ; or, in explaining the parts
of the human body, ever said , this is to irritate ;
this to inflame; this duct is to convey the gravel
to the kidneys ; this gland to secrete the humour
which forms the gout. If by chance he come
at a part of which he knows not the use , the
most he can say is that it is useless. No one
ever suspects that it is put there to incommode,
to annoy, or to torment. Since, then, God has
called forth his consummate wisdom to contrive
and provide for our happiness, and the world
appears to have been constituted with this design
at first, so long as this constitution is upholden
by him , we must in reason suppose the same
a

design to continue." *
* Mor.and Pol. Phil, vol.i. ch .v.
 ON HUMAN HAPPINESS . 209

· A thousand other examples might be added,

but it is unnecessary . The conclusion is clear,
and it is most important : we obtain from the
light of nature, or the exercise of our own
reason, irresistible proofs of the divine benevo
lence, irresistible proofs thatGod has made man
to make him happy : or, in other words, that
human happiness is the will of God.
We are now , then, prepared to enter upon
our last question : Is a course of virtue the path
to happiness, for if it be it must necessarily be
the will ofGod to walk in it ? Or, having proved
the terms to be co -ordinate , we may propose the
question conversely , Is a course of virtue the
will ofGod ? For if it be, it must necessarily con
duct to human happiness. Under either view
of the question , the general proposition will be
as follows: God has willed human happiness,
and he has willed it to be obtained by a course
of virtue. God, then , is the author, happiness
the end, and virtue themeans.
Let us take the question before us in its first
view , Is human virtue themeans of human hap
piness ?
Had we time it might perhaps be expedient
to enter into a definition of the terms ; but we
have not time, and I must refer therefore to the
general understanding of mankind upon this
subject: which I may do themore safely, because,
though the terms virtue and happiness are
strikingly comprehensive, there is no great dif
ference of opinion either among the learned or
VOL. III.
210 . ON HUMAN HAPPINESS .

the unlearned concerning their general outlines

or more prominent characteristics.
The question , then , ought to be argued in
relation to the happiness both of the individual
and of the community ; or, in other words, to
the happiness of man in his private and his
social capacity.
Is the practice of virtue most contributory
to a man 's individual happiness ? The libertine
saysNo; and he seeks for it in hismistress, whom
he changes as often as he changes his dress.
The glutton says No ; unless a good city -feast be
virtue ; for the soul of happiness with him con
sists in a haunch of venison and a brisk circu.
lation of the bottle . The spendthrift says No :
you may as well seek for happiness in a hay
stack : happiness, my dear Sir, you may depend
upon it, consists in nothing else than a good stud ,
and a pack of hounds. The gamester, in like
manner, says No ; and he directs us to a pack
of cards and a pair of dice. Even the miser
joins in the general negative, and would fain
persuade us that it resides in the meagre and
miserable ghost that constitutes his own person ,
or the meagre and miserable pursuits to which
his person is daily prostituted .
Now all these have, no doubt, their respective
enjoyments ; but do they constitute happiness
in any fair sense of the term ? are they perma
nent ? I do not say through life, but for four
and-twenty hours together . Many of them , on
the contrary, are of that violent kind that they
 ON HUMAN HAPPINESS. 211

wear themselves out in an hour or two ; and

what is the state of the system before it recovers
sufficient energy for a renewal? To say that it
is as empty as an air-pump would be to give a
better character of it than it deserves. It is not
empty ; it is still full ; full of bitterness or in
supportable languor, sickness at heart or sickness
at the stomach . Even the miser, who, properly
speaking, provides for a longer range of enjoy
ment than any of the rest of this precious group,
is a victim while he is a worshipper, a sacrifice
to anxiety while an idolater of Mammon . .
We are at present, however, merely following
them up through a single day ; but life is a series
of days : in its ordinary estimate , of three-score
years and ten . And he who is a candidate for
happiness must prepare himself, not for a single
day, but for the entire term : he must save his
strength , and proceed cautiously , for there is no
race in which he may so soon run himself out of
breath . His motto may perhaps be, “ A short
life and a merry one ; " and this, in truth , is the
motto, and not the motto only , but the brief
history of most of those whom we have thus far
considered. For consumption , dropsy, gout, or
chagrin and suicide, make not unfrequently a ,
woeful havoc in their ranks before they have
cleared two- thirds of the pleasurable career they
had proposed to themselves. Let them , then ,
have their motto if they will ; but let them not
boast that they have found out the specific for
making life happy ; for all that they have found
P 2
212 ON HUMAN HAPPINESS.

out is a specific for throwing both life and hap

piness away at the same time. They have had
a few fitful bursts of enjoyment ; but the price
has been enormous, — a costly birthright for a
mess of pottage. He only can fairly boast of
happiness, place it in whatever way you please,
who, on casting up the account, can honestly
say that it has accompanied him through the
long run .
There is another and a very different set of
people , both in the higher and lower ranks of
life, who also occasionally strive to persuade them
selves that they are happy, and who are sometimes
actually thought so by those around them : and
these are the listless and idle, who loll and saunter
life away as though it were a dream ; and who,
in truth, are more alive in their dreams than in
their waking hours. Now happiness consists in
activity : such is the constitution of our nature :
it is a running stream , and not a stagnant pool.
It shows itself under this form from the first
moment it shows itself at all. Behold the hap
piness of the infant or of the school-boy : he is full
of frolic ; he cannot contain the current of self
delight : in the bold significancy of vulgar lan
guage, it runs out at his fingers' ends. Upon
the whole, the listless and idle have less preten .
sioris to happiness than the characters we have
just surveyed , - the libertine, the gamester , and
the spendthrift : for should you distil the aggre.
gate of insignificant incidents that compose the
whole tehour of the feeble life of the former, not,
 ON HUMAN HAPPINESS. 213

a drop , perhaps, of the essence of happiness

would ascend in the alembic. They may be at
perfect quiet if you please, and look fat and in
good liking , but this is not happiness ; for if so,
capons and Cappadocian slaves would have a
better title to it than themselves.
Let us now apply these observations to the
question before us. No man can be happy with
out exercising the virtue of a cheerful industry
or activity. No man
nan can lay in his claim to
happiness, I mean the happiness that shall last
through the fair run of life, without chastity,
without temperance, without sobriety, without
economy, without self-command, and conse
quently without fortitude ; and, letme add, with
out a liberal and forgiving spirit. The whole
of this follows as the necessary result of our
argument. The exercise of these virtues may
perhaps cost a man something at the time, but
the full scope and aggregate of his happiness
depend upon the exercise. It is a tax upon the
sum -total, that must be regularly paid to secure
the rest. And it ought never to be forgotten
that we are so much the creatures of habit that
the more we are accustomed to the exercise , like
an old garment, the easier it will sit upon us.
| But these are private virtues, and only a few
of them . Man has also, if he would be happy,
to practise a still longer list of public virtues ;
and he cannot be happy without practising them .
Or, in other words, ( for I am now to consider
him in a social capacity ,) the happiness of the
P 3
214 . ON HUMAN HAPPINESS .

community to which he belongs, and of which

his own forins a constituent part, could not con
tinue without his practising them .
... He may steal, indeed, from his neighbour,
and hereby increase his means of gratifying
some predominant passion ;- but then his neigh
bour may also steal from him in return , and to
a greater extent; and his happiness therefore ( ever
regarding it in the aggregate) is connected with
his exercising the virtues of justice and honesty ,
Hemay break his promise, or lie to his neighbour,
upon a point in which his own interest appears
to be concerned ; but then his neighbour may
also return him the compliment, and in a way
in which his interest may be still more deeply
concerned ; and his interest, therefore, or, which
is the same thing, his happiness, obliges him to
practise the virtue of veracity .
In Woodfall's edition of the Letters of Junius,
there is a passage upon the subject before us,
contained in one of his private letters, which
has peculiarly struck me, considering the quarter
it has proceeded from , and the manner of its
communication. Whoever was the writer of
these celebrated Letters, it will be readily ad
mitted , that he had a most extensive acquaintance
with men of all ranks and characters, particu
larly with the vicious and profligate ; and that
he had a most extraordinary facility of pene
trating into the human heart. In the private
letter I refer to , he unbosoms himself to his
printer, for whom he appears to have had a
 ON HUMAN HAPPINESS. 215 :

great esteem , and, amidst the regulations he

gives him for his future conduct, makes the fol
lowing forcible remark : “ With a sound heart
be assured you are better gifted, even for worldly
happiness, than if you had been cursed with the
abilities of a Mansfield . After long experience
of the world, I affirm , before God, I never knew
a rogue who was not unhappy.” *
It is not necessary to pursue the catalogue.
Man is by nature a social being : every one is
purposely made dependent upon every other ;
and consequently the happiness or well-being of
the whole and of every one, who constitutes an
integral part of the whole, must be the same
happiness . Yet as the happiness or well-being
of the individual demands, in his private capa
city, as we have already seen it does, a system
of private abstinences or restraints, the hap
piness or well-being of society demands a more
extensive system of public duties of the same
kind . We must consent to relinquish a part of
our liberty, a part of our property , a part of all
our personal propensities and appetites, or the
well-being of the society to which we belong,
and consequently our own socialwell-being, could
not continue. We may indeed take ourselves
away from society , and live in the solitude of
the forests ; but our happiness is bound up in
social life , and, whatever is the cost, it is con
sistent with the same happiness that we pay it.

* Letter, No. xliii.

P 4
216 ON HUMAN HAPPINESS .

Freethinkers are accustomed to sneer at the

precepts of the Bible , which inculcate upon us
the virtues of self-denial and mortification in the
present life, in order to our making sure of a
life of uninterrupted happiness hereafter. But
if there be any degree of truth in the remarks
now offered, they find themselves called upon to
practise a similar restraint and denial even in
the purchase of present enjoyment. And the
analogy is so striking between the natural and
the moral government of the Deity in this re
spect, that Bishop Butler has forcibly laid hold
of the same argument, not only in vindication
of the Gospel-precepts upon this point, but in
illustration of the paramount importance of our
attending to them , if we would be wise to our
future and everlasting interest. - " Thought,”
says he, “ and consideration, the voluntary de
nying ourselves many things which we desire,
and a course of behaviour far from being always
agreeable to us,areabsolutelynecessary to our act
ing even a common decent and common prudent
part, so as to pass with any satisfaction through
the present world , and be received upon any
tolerably good terms in it. Since this is the case,
all presumption against self-denial and attention
to secure our HIGHER INTEREST is removed. The
constitution of nature is as it is. Our happiness
and misery are trusted to our conduct, and made
to depend upon it. Somewhat, and , in many
circumstances, a great deal too , is put upon us
either to do or to suffer, aswe chuse . And all
 ON HUMAN HAPPINESS. 217

the various miseries of life which people bring

upon themselves by negligence and folly , and
might have avoided by proper care, are instances
of this ; which miseries are, beforehand, just as
contingent and undetermined as their conduct,
and left to be determined by it." *
It is from this common consent to put a re
straint upon our personal feelings in the pursuit
of relative pleasures, from this social impulse of
our constitution with which we are so wisely
and benevolently endowed, that every man be
longing to the same state or community becomes a
part of every man , and cannot, even if he would ,
be an indifferent spectator of the woe or the weal
of his neighbour. And hence arises the sacred
bond of sympathy or fellow -feeling ;
And true self-love, and social, are the same.
While as the line is drawn still closer, and we as
sociate together more frequently and more inti
mately, we become, from the great and powerful
principle of habit, stillmore kindred parts of each
other. Andhence the origin of the higher public
virtues of patriotism , generosity, gratitude, friend
ship , conjugal fidelity, parental love, and filial
reverence ; the exercise of all which in our relat
ive situations of life, whether we contemplate it
at the time, or whether we do not, is by our own
constitution , or, which is the same thing , by the
will of the great Creator, rendered essential to
our individual happiness. .
* Analysis of Religion , Natural and Revealed , part i.
ch. iv.
218 ON HUMAN HAPPINESS .

Mr. Pope, from a hint furnished by Dr.Donne,

finely compares this, origin and spread of the
different circles of private and public virtues
from the salient point of self-love, or the desire
of individual happiness in the breast, to the
series of circles within circles excited on the
bosom of a still and peaceful lake by the throw
of a pebble ; while all nature smiles around, and,
from this very agitation, the face of the heavens
is reflected with an additional degree of lustre.
“ Self-love but serves the virtuous breast to wake,
As the smooth pebble stirs the peaceful lake.
The centre mov'd, a circle strait succeeds,
Another still, and still another spreads.
Friend , parents, neighbour, first it will embrace,
Our country next, and next all human race.
Wide, and more wide, th ' o 'erflowing of the mind
Takes every creature in of every kind.
Earth smiles around, in boundless beauty dress'd ;
And heav 'n reflects its image in his breast.”
We stand in need , then , of no præcognita or
innate ideas, of no fanciful instinct whatever ;
arguing as intelligent beings, and fairly exercis
ing the discursive faculty of reason, we come to
the clear conclusion that virtue is the path to
human happiness. The case, indeed, is so mani
fest, that while many of the instincts we actually
possess are often tempting us against such a con
duct and such a conclusion , whenever reason is
appealed to, we never fail to return to the same
established dictum .
 ON HUMAN HAPPINESS , 219

- The Stoics, with a sort of romantic refinement,

pretended to have fallen into a love of virtue for
her own sake ; and to sustain and to abstain , to
bear and forbear, to be patient and continent,
comprised the summary of their moral system ,
But while they were thus enraptured with the
means, like every other society of mankind, they
had the full advantage of the end. They may,
indeed, have practised virtue for the love of vir
tue, but they also practised virtue, and reaped
the benefit of their own happiness.
· The Epicureans, on the contrary , regarded all
these sublime pretensions as mere cant and affec
tation . They also enjoined and practised , and
notwithstanding the false reproach that has at
tached to their name, enjoined and practised with
more rigidity than even the Stoics, the laws and,
restraints of moral virtue ; yet boldly and une
quivocally avowed that it was chiefly as a mean
towards an end : that it was not so much from a
love of virtue, as from a love of pleasure or hap
piness : and hence pleasure and happiness were
in this school used as synonymous terms, as were
also vice and folly , and wisdom and virtue ; or,
rather, wisdom was regarded as the first of all
virtues, as being that which teaches us that a life
of real pleasure or happiness is to be obtained
alone by the exercise of the general cluster of
virtues. In one of his letters to Menæceus, that
has yet survived the ravage of time, Epicurus has
a passage upon this subject peculiarly striking,
and that cannot be too strongly impressed on our
220 ON HUMAN HAPPINESS.
memories. “ Wisdom ,” says he, “ is the chief
blessing of philosophy, since she gives birth to all
other virtues which unite in teaching us, that no
man can live happily who does not live wisely,
conscientiously, and justly ; nor, on the other
hand, can he live wisely , conscientiously , and

separable from a life of happiness, and a life of

happiness is equally inseparable from virtue. Be
these, then, and maxims like these, the subjects
of thy meditation , by night and by day, both
when alone and with the friend of thy bosom ;
and never, whether asleep or awake, shalt thou
be opprest with anxiety, but live as a god
among mankind ." *
To the same effect Cassius, in an expostula
tory letter to his friend Cicero, who had shown
some inclination to join in the general calumny
against the Epicureans : « Those whom we call
lovers of pleasure are real lovers of goodness and
justice : they are men who practise and cultivate
every virtue ; for no true pleasure can exist
without a good and virtuous life.”

tribes of the sons of vice, or offenders against the

public law , characterises them by the common
name of fools. “ They are,” says he, “ perpe
tually smarting, even in secret, beneath a sense of
their atrocious crimes, and that reward of their
guilt, which they well know will sooner or later
overtake them :
* Diog. Laert. x . 132. 135 .
 ON HUMAN HAPPINESS. . - 221

The scourge, the wheel, the block , the dungeon deep,

The base -born hangman , the TARPEIAN cliff,
Which , though the villain ’scape, his conscious soul
Still fears perpetual; torturing all his days,
And still foreboding heavier pangs at death .
Hence earth itself to foolsbecomes a hell. *
It was from the elegant and ornate moralists
of the East, that the philosophers of this school
derived this figurative synonymy : from Arabia,
Egypt, and India ; in all which quarters we find
it still more frequentand familiar. Solomon ,whose
early studies were derived from an Arabic source,
is peculiarly addicted to this use of these terms.
The very commencement of his book of Proverbs,
or system of ethics, as the schools would deno
minate it, affords us a striking instance :
“ The fear of Jehovah is the beginning of knowledge:
For fools despise wisdom and instruction .”
So Vishnusarman , in his Hitopadesa to the same
precise effect : “ Many who read the Scriptures
are grossly ignorant ; but he who acts well is a
truly LEARNED man ." +
Whatever view , therefore, we take of this sub
ject, in whatever way we exercise our reason
* Vérbera, carnufices, robur, pix , lamina, tædæ :
Qui tamen et si absunt, at mens, sibi conscia factis,
Præmetuens, adhibet stimulos, torretque flagellis !
Nec videt interea, qui terminus esse malorum
Possit, quive sciet pænarum denique finis ;
Atque eadem metuit magis, hæc ne in morte gravescant.
Hinc Acherusia fit STULTORUM denique vita .
Lib . iii. 1030.
+ Sir W . Jones, vi. p. 37 .
 222 ON HUMAN HAPPINESS.

upon it, we cannot fail to approve of virtue in

virtue as the only sure road to happiness, and

consequently as the path of wisdom , or the will
of God. The case , indeed, is so clear, that it is
seldom mankind in any part of the world are
now -a-days at the trouble of debating the subject.
There is no controversy - the result is taken for
granted . And hence wherever education exists,
or, in other words, wherever civilised life ex
tends, we are chiefly taught it, not as a science,
but as a rule of action ; we imbibe it as a habit ;
and our first and finest feelings co-operate with
our best reason in its favour, We form an abstract
picture of it in our minds, and delineate it, under
the correct and pleasing image of the fair, the
needful, the sovereign good. We have already
seen that, in proportion as society is ignorant,
men are wicked ; in proportion as it becomes
wise , they grow virtuous. They acquire clearer
ideas of right and wrong, which are obviously
nothing more than virtue and vice, under an ad
ditional set of names, or in a state of activity.
And were the rules and laws of right, virtue, or
wisdom to be constantly adhered to, or, in other
words, the will of the Deity to be fully complied
with, there can be no question that mankind,
even in the present state, would enjoy all the
happiness their nature will allow of ; and that a
kind of paradise would once more visit the
earth .
 ON HUMAN HAPPINESS. 223
And why, then, is not the will of the Deity
fully complied with ? Why, since the consequence
is so undoubted , and so beneficial, are not the
rules of virtue constantly and universally ad .
hered to ?
This is a most important question, as well in
itself as in its results.
The will of the Deity, or the entire rules of
virtue, are not always adhered to, first, because,
as collected from reason or the light of nature
alone, they are not, through the whole range of
this complicated subject, in all instances equally
clear and perspicuous ; and, secondly , because
in a thousand instances in which there is no want
of clearness or perspicuity, there is a want of
sanction of a compulsory and adequate force .
The rules of virtue are general, and must neces
sarily be general ; but the cases to which they
apply are particular. The case is present and often
impulsive, but the operation of the rule is remote,
and it may not operate at all ; and hence the
pleasure of immediate gratification is perpetually
unhinging this harmonious system , and plunging
mankind into vice with their eyes open .
But civil laws, moreover, or the authority of
the social compact in favour of virtue, are not
only often inadequate in their force, but theymust
necessarily, in a thousand instances, be inade
quate in their extent. It is impossible for man
of himself to provide against every case of vice
or criminality that may offend the public ; for
the keenest casuist can form no idea of many of
 224 ON HUMAN HAPPINESS.

such cases till they are before him ; and if he

could , the whole world would not contain the
statute-books that should be written upon the
subject.
Cho

There are also duties which a man owes to

himself as well as to his neighbour ; or, in other
words, human happiness , as we have already
seen , depends almost as largely upon his exercise
of private as of public virtues. But the eye of
civil law cannot follow him into the performance
of these duties, for it cannot follow him into his
privacy : it cannot take cognisance of his per. '
SOL TI
sonal faults or offences, nor often apply its sanc
tion if it could do so . And hence, in most coun
tries, this important part of morality is purposely
left out of the civil code, as a hopeless and in
tractable subject. Yet even in the breach of
public duties, specifically stated and provided
for, it cannot always follow up the offender, and
apply the punishment : for he may secrete him
self among his own colleagues, and elude, or he
may abandon his country , and defy the arm of
justice.
There seems, then , to be a something still want
ing. If the Deity have so benevolently willed the
happiness of man, and made virtue the rule of
that happiness, ought he not, upon the same
principle of benevolence, to have declared his
will more openly than by the mere, and, at times,
doubtful, inferences of reason ? in characters,
indeed so plain , that he who runs may read ?
and ought he not also to have employed sanc
 ON
VN HUMAN HAPPINESS . 225
tions so universal as to cover every case, and so
weighty as to command every attention ? .
As a being of infinite benevolence, undoubt
edly he ought. And what, in this character, he
ought to have done, he has actually accomplished.
He has declared his will by an express revelation ,
and has thus confirmed the voice of reason by a
voice from heaven : he has made this revelation
a written law , and has enforced it by the strongest
sanctions to which the mind ofman can be open :
- not only by his best chance of happiness here,
but by all his hopes and expectations of happi
ness hereafter. And he has hence completed
the code of human obligations, by adding to the
duties which we owe to our neighbour and to
ourselves, a clear rescript of those we owe to our
Maker. Nor is such revelation of
for a state of retributive justice beyond the grave
constituted, as we have already seen , the belief
of mankind in the earliest ages of time ; and
amidst all the revolutions the world has witnessed ,
amidst the most savage barbarism , and the foul
est idolatries, there never perhaps has been a
country in which all traces of it have been
entirely lost, or have even entirely ceased to
operate .
At different periods, and in differentmanners,
the Deity has renewed this divine communication
according as his infinite wisdom has seen the
world stand in need of it. New doctrines and
discoveries, and doctrines and discoveries, too, of
the highest importance, but which it is not my
VOL . III.
226 ON HUMAN HAPPINESS .

province to touch upon in the present place,

have in every instance accompanied such renewal,
justificatory of the supernatural interposition.
But the sanction has, in every instance, been the
same; while, and I speak it with reverence, the
proofs of divine benevolence have with every
promulgation been growing fuller and fuller :
revealed religion thus co -operating with natural,
co -operating with the great frame of the visible
world , co -operating with every pulse and feeling
of our own hearts in establishing the delightful
. truth , that God is LOVE ; and in calling upon
us to love him , not from any cold and lifeless
picture of the abstract beauty of holiness, beau
tiful as it unquestionably is in itself, but from
the touching and all-subduing motive, BECAUSE
HE FIRST LOVED US.
 227

LECTURE VIII.
ON THE GENERAL FACULTIES OF THE MIND , AND
ITS FREEDOM IN WILLING .

In the commencement of the successive series

of lectures which I have had the honour of deli
vering before this respectable school of science,
I stated , as it may be recollected by many of the
audience before me, that the subject I proposed
to discuss would be of considerable extent and
variety : that it would embrace, though with
a rapid survey, the whole circle of physics in the
most enlarged sense in which this term has been
employed by Aristotle or Lord Bacon ; and, con
sequently, would touch slightly , yet, as I hoped,
with a correct outline, upon all the more interest
ing and important features ofmatter and of mind.
It may be remembered, that I proposed to unfold
to you the general principles, laws, and phæno
mena, as far as we are capable of tracing them ,
of the world without us, and the world within
us; to follow the footsteps of nature, or rather
of the God of nature, in the gradual evolution of
that nice, and delicate, and ever-rising scale of
wonders that surround us on every side, from
the simplest elements to the most perfect and
harmonious systems of visible or demonstrable
Q 2
228 ON THE GENERAL

existences ; from shapeless matter to form , from

form to feeling, from feeling to intellect ; from
the clod to the crystal, from the cr
plant, from the plant to the animal, from brutal
life to man. All this I have endeavoured to ac
complish ; feebly , and imperfectly , indeed, but I
have still endeavoured it with whatever may be
the powers that the breath of the Almighty has
implanted within me.
But we have not stopped here ; having reach
ed in man the summit of the visible pyramid of
creation , we have tremblingly ventured to take a
glance at the interior of his mysterious structure ;
we have followed him , with no unhallowed eye,
into the temple of the soul ; we have amused our
selves, for, after all, it has been little or nothing
more, with conjectures about its essence, and have
commenced an analysis of those faculties so fear
fully and wonderfully planned, which place him at
an almost infinite distance from the brute creation ,
and approximate him to the sphere of celestial
intelligences : to that order of pure and happy
spirits with whom it is his high prerogative, if
not forfeited by his own misconduct on earth ,
that he shall associate hereafter, and press for
ward in the pursuit of an infinite and self-reward
ing knowledge, and in the fruition of an endless
and unclouded felicity.
This last topic, however, we have entered
upon, and nothing more : we have noticed , in
deed , the general furniture of the mind , and the
diversified faculties with which it is endowed ,
 FACULTIES OF THE MIND . 229

but we have only extended our investigation be

yond such notice to the principles of perception ,
thought, and REASON, or the discursive power ;
and to those communications, or ideas of objects
or subjects, derived externally or from within ,
upon which the discursive power is ever exercis
ing itself ; and which, as they are obtained from
the one or the other of these two sources, are
denominated ideas of sensation or of reflexion . ,
Now , besides an ability to perceive, think , or
reason, we find the mind possest of an almost in
finite variety of other attributes or faculties, im
planted in it for the wisest and inost beneficent
purposes. Webehold it endowed with conscious
ness, judgment, memory , imagination ; with a
power of chusing or refusing ; with admiration
and desire ; hope and fear, love and hatred ;
grief and joy, transport and terror ; with anger,
jealousy, and despair. And we behold each of
these faculties, as called into action , producing a
correspondent effect upon the organs of thebody;
giving rise to what the painters call EXPRES
SION, or the language of the features ; and to
articulate sounds, or the language of the lips ;
lighting up the eye, and animating the counte
nance ; invigorating the speech,and harmonizing
its periods ; or, on the contrary , filling the eye
and the countenance with gloom or indignation ,
and the voice with sighs and bitter rebukes .
The external signs thus produced , and repre
sentative of the inward emotion , operate in their
turn with a reflex influence, and rekindle in the
QS
230 ON THE GENERAL

mind the feelings that have given birth to them .

And hence the origin and soul-subduing power
of tender or impassioned poetry, or of manly and
forcible eloquence ; as also the cause why we
feel equally hurried away by the classical debates
of the senate, and the fictitious distresses of the
drama.
We behold, moreover, in different persons,
these energetic principles differently modified or
associated in every variety of combination :
sometimes one of them , and sometimes an
other, and sometimes several leagued together,
peculiarly active, and obtaining a mastery over
the rest. And webehold these effects in different
instances, from different causes ; as peculiarity
of temperament, peculiarity of climate, custom ,
habit, or education . And hence the origin of mo
ral and intellectual character ; the particular dis
positions and propensities of individuals or of
whole nations. Hence one man is naturally vio .
lent, and another gentle ; one a prey to perpetual
gloom , and another full of hope and confidence ;
one irascible and revengeful, and another all be
nevolence and philanthropy ; one shrewd and
witty , and another heavy and inert. Hence the
refinement and patriotism of ancientGreece ; the
rough hardihood of the Romans ; and the com
mercial spirit of Carthage ; and hence, in modern
times, the silent and plodding industry of the
Dutch ; the chivalrous honour of the Spaniards
of the last century , unpoisoned by the deadly
fever of Corsican morality ; the restless loqua
 FACULTIES OF THE MIND . 231

city and intriguing ambition of the French ; and ,

may I be permitted to add, the high heroic
courage, and love of freedom , the generosity and
promptitude to forgive injuries, the unswerving
honesty and lofty spirit of adventure , that pecu .
liarly signalize the inhabitants of the British isles ;
all which are subjects that yet remain to be
treated of and elucidated, and which seem to
promise us an ample harvest of entertainment and
instruction .
Let us begin with the mental faculties them ,
selves. These, as we have already seen , are nu
merous and complicated ; so much so , indeed ,
that it is difficult to arrange and analyze them ;
and hence, I do not, at the present moment, re
collect a single treatise upon the subject which
gives us a clear and methodical classification of
them . I shall take leave, therefore , to offer a
new distribution ; and shall divide them into the
three general heads, of powers or faculties of the
UNDERSTANDING ; powers or facultiesofELECTION ;
and powers or faculties of EMOTION . To the first
belong the principles of perception, thought,
reason , judgment, memory , and imagination ; to
the second, those of chusing and refusing, or
of WILLING and NILLING , to adopt an old and
very expressive metaphysical term , that ought
never to have grown obsolete ; to the third be
long those of hope, fear, grief, and joy, love, hat
red ,anger,and revenge, orwhatever else is capable
ofmoving the mind from a state of tranquillity
and rest .
232 ON THE GENERAL

• All these are, properly speaking, acts or ac

tions of the mind ; yet, as during the operation of
the last set, the mind becomes at times irregularly
and involuntarily agitated and affected , though
by the force of its own attributes, as the volun
tary muscles of the body are often thrown into
trepidation and spasmsby the contraction of their
own fibres, metaphysicians, and especially those
of Germany, have seemed inclined to restrict
the name of mental actions to the operations
of the understanding and the will, and to give
the name of affections or passions to those pro
ductive of mental emotion : to those transitions
of feeling into which the mind is involuntarily
hurried by the stimulus of this class of its own
powers, and under the stress of which it may thus
far be said to be passive ; and hence, if I mis
take not, the application of the term passions,
(which has so much puzzled the metaphysicians,
to certain conditions or powers of the mind,
which import activity and exertion . It is upon
the same ground, that where the mind is com
pletely subdued , and suffers extreme violence,
we employ the term with peculiar emphasis ;
thus, when a man is raging either with anger or
love, he is said pre-eminently to be in a passion,
or to entertain a passion ; and thus again , but in
a far more serious and solemn sense, the Christian
world applies the same term in its highest forcé
of signification to the agony of our blessed Sa
viour,
 FACULTIES OF THE MIND. 233
Now it is the peculiar feature of physiology,
and especially as studied upon the principles of
induction , that, as far as it has proceeded , it has
discovered a general adaptation of means to a
proposed end ; and has hence placed the doc
trine of final causes, as it has been incorrectly ,
and notwithout some degree of confusion , deno
minated — of causes, however, operating to a
final intention , — upon a basis too strong to be
shaken by the ridicule of many modern philoso
phers, sheltering themselves under an erroneous
construction of Lord Bacon 's views upon the
subject.* What, then , are the uses or proposed
endsof this extensive and complicated machinery
of the mind of man ? What are the respective
parts which its various faculties, in the order in
which we have now arranged them , are intended
to fulfil, and the means by which they are to
operate ?
• Their object is threefold , and in every respect
most important, and admirably calculated to
prove the wisdom and benevolence of the al
mighty Architect : they are the grand sources by
* Causarum finalium inquisitio sterilis est, et, tanquam
· Virgo Deo consecrata, nihil parit. Such is his celebrated
aphorism : but the term inquisitio does not relate to the sub
ject or doctrine itself,but merely to its being made a branch
of physical instead of metaphysical philosophy. The dis
coveries of modern times have sufficiently shown that Bacon
was deceived upon this last point. But it is perfectly clear
from other passages in his writings that he did not mean to
controvert the doctrine itself. See Stewart's Elements,
vol. ii. p .454.
 234 ON THE GENERAL

which man becomes endowed with knowledge,

moral freedom , and happiness ; and is hence
fitted to run the elevated race of a rational and
accountable being. From the powers of the
understanding he derives the first ; from those of
volition or election the second ; and from the
passions or motive powers the third. Yet never
let it be forgotten , that he can in no respect, or
at least to no considerable extent or good pur
pose, possess either the one or the other, unless
the mind , as an individual agent, maintain its
self-dominion, and exercise a due degree of
government over its own forces. This, I think,
must be obvious to every one ; and it is in this
harmonious balance, this equable guidance and
control, that the perfection of the human cha
racter can alone consist and exhibit itself. Un
less the faculties of the understanding be called
forth , there can be no knowledge ; and unless
they be properly directed, though there may in
deed be knowledge, it will be of a worse nature
than utter ignorance ; we shall pluck, not of the
mixt tree of the knowledge of good and evil, as
it stood before the fall, but from the tree of the
knowledge of evil alone, withoutany union or par
ticipation ofgood . In like manner, unless the will
and the passions be under an equal degree of
guidance, themind can be neither independentnor
happy ; a mental chaos must usurp the place of
order, and the whole be misrule and confusion .
We are too much in the habit, both in com
mon life and in philosophy, of regarding the fa .
 FACULTIES OF THE MIND . 235

culties of the mind as distinct agents from the

mind itself, as though the latter were nothing
more than a house or repository for their recep
tion . This is particularly true in respect to the
faculty of the WILL ; for we are perpetually told
that the will operates upon the understanding or
the mind ; and that unless the will be free ,
the man himself can have no freedom .
Now the will, like the memory or the judg
ment, is a mere power or ability, and freedom is
another power or ability ; but powers or abilities
of one kind cannot belong to or be the property
of powers or abilities of another kind : they
can only belong to or be the property of
some agent, and in this case the mind is the
, only agent. The question , therefore, whether
the will be free, can only mean , if it mean any
thing, whether the mind be free, of which the
will is a power or attribute ; and to the question
thus modified , I have no hesitation in stating , that
the mind is perfectly free to do whatever it wills.
I do not say whatever it desires; for the DESIRE
is a different faculty from the WILL ; and though
too generally confounded with each other, for
the want of clear ideas upon the subject, the two
are frequently in a state of direct opposition.
Thus a man niay desire to fly , but he never wills
it ; and for this plain reason, that though the
action may be a matter of desire, it can never be
a matter of volition ; for to suppose the will or
power of chusing to be exerted upon a subject
in which there is no power of chusing, is to sup
pose an absurdity. In like manner, on the con
 L
236 ON THE GENERA

trary, the school-boy may will to get his task ,

though sorely against his desire or inclination , and
the timid female, for the benefit of her health ,may
will to be plunged into the cold bath ,though with
as great a reluctance . So when a kind and indul
gent father chastises his son for disobedience, the
mind, urged by proper motives, consents, and
consequently wills it ; it prefers inflicting the
chastisement to abstaining from it : but while it
wills or prefers the punishment, it is so far from
desiring it, that it probably hates it more than
the child itself does.
It has been said that, in this case , the feeling of
desire is still exercised ; that the father, though
he does not desire the punishment, desires the
ultimate good of his child ; that the same power
of the mind is therefore still in activity, though
directed to a different object ; and , consequently ,
that willing is nothing more than desire in a
higher range of thescale, or a state of predominant
exertion . But this is to confound rather than to
simplify the feelings of the mind . Desire is al.
ways accompanied with pleasure, and can never
be altogether separated from it ; for no man can
desire that which is wholly and essentially pain
ful. Now , though the father takes a pleasure in
the good of his child , he takes no pleasure, but,
on the contrary, great and unmixed pain in his
chastisement; and unless pleasure and pain be
one and the same feeling, we cannot apply the
simple idea of desire to both , though that of the
will is equally applicable . And hence the will
and the desire must necessarily be regarded as
 FACULTIES OF THE MIND . 237

different faculties of the mind. In like manner,

a person labouring under a severe fit of tooth
ache may say that he desires to have the tooth
taken out ; but in saying this he does not desire
the pain of its extraction , but only the ease which
he hopes will follow upon its removal: for he
hates the pain , and would avoid it , and have the
tooth removed without it, if possible ; buthe con
sents to , or wills it, for the sake of that prospect
ive advantage which alone is the object of his
desire, as it is also of his will. So that here
again , while the desire is limited to the one state
of body, the will applies to both , and affords
another proof that they are two distinct mental
powers. In like manner, Revelation tells us re
peatedly, and as strictly as it does emphatically ,
that God “ hath no pleasure or desire in the
death of the wicked ;" but it tells us also, that
God is,nevertheless, effecting, and, consequently,
willing, their death or punishment every day,
Freedom of mind, then, or an exercise of the
will, is a distinct power or attribute from that of
desire, and can only respect actions in which
there is a condition of choice. A man standing
on a cliff, has a power of leaping twenty yards
downward into the sea, or of continuing where
he is ; and, having this option , he is free, and
exercises his will accordingly . But he has no
power of leaping twenty yards upwards into the
air, and it can never become a question with
him - a subject of deliberation or option - whe
ther he shall leap upwards or not ; and, conse
 238 ON THE GENERAL

quently, as this can never become a question

with him , the mind can never will it, and its
freedom remains undisturbed.
Here, then, we rest : the mind is free to do
whatever it wills. But the ingenuity of man has
not been content with letting the subject remain
at this point: it has pushed it still farther, and
enquired whether the mind is free to will as well
as to act after it has willed ? and this, after all,
is the real drift of the enquiry with which the
world has been so long harassed, whether the
will itself be free ?
This question is a complex one ; and its com
plexity hasnot always been sufficiently traced out
and explained . The mind of every intelligent
being can only will, or, in other words, be deter
mined to do or forbear an act by a motive ormov
ing power , and in this respect it is subject to a
necessity issuing from the nature of things ;
but if, as I shall endeavour to show , the mind,
by a voluntary operation of some one or more of
its other faculties, of itself constitutes the motive,
annuls it, or changes it for another , it must ne
cessarily follow , that it has all the freedom of
willing , as well as of acting, that an intelligent
being is capable of possessing.
Now , the grand aim of every living, and espe
cially of every intelligent being, is good, pleasure,
or happiness; for they all, as in the words of the
poet, imply the samething :
O Happiness ! our being's end and aim ,
Good, Pleasure, Ease, Content, whate'er thy name.
 FACULTIES OF THE MIND . 239

But good, pleasure, or happiness, are generic

names for a thousand different objects, each of
which is pursued as many different ways, not
only by different individuals, but sometimes at
different periods, by the very same person . In
all these cases we perceive so many different mo
tives or moving powers . Yet whence comes it,
not only that different persons but that the same
individual should have a differentmotive or mov
ing power to-day from what he had yesterday,
or perhaps only half an hour before ?
The cause may, indeed, be some sudden and
impetuous gust of passion by which the mind
may be stormed and led captive, as by a coup
de-main ; but it may also be a deliberate deter
mination of the mind itself. And, in truth , this
last is the general cause , to which a sudden and
impetuous ebullition of the passions forms but a
few occasional exceptions. It is this exercise of
deliberation that alone renders man a rational
and accountable being. All human lawsact upon
the same principle : they suppose him (saving
the fewextremecases just alluded to ) to be under
the influence of a controlling judgment, and
they reward or punish him accordingly . And
such is the force of habit and long association ,
that we not unfrequently behold the judgment
exercising this control, in a mind evidently
unsound and wandering ; and the cunning ma
niac concealing à skilful design or a deep
rooted passion till the due moment arrives for
executing the one, or gratifying the other .
 240 ON THE GENERAL

Now , in all these cases, the determination of

the judgment, which formsthemotive ormoving
power, is as much a voluntary act of the mind ,
whether right or wrong, as the change of one or
more ciphers in a common arithmetical sum , in
consequence of our discovering an error upon
working it a second time. This determination,
or motive, however, may be changed every hour,
or even every minute ; for the mind may take a
new view of the subject : it may obtain clearer
ideas from fresh sources ; or other affections may
be called into play than those which have hitherto
produced an influence ; and what before was de. .
cided to be a certain path to pleasure, may next
be decided to be as certain a road to misery and
ruin .
And so active is the judgment in asserting its
control, that even where the mind is borne down
by the most violent passions, it still strives, at
times, to recover its authority, and is seldom quiet
till it has succeeded . Let me offer a single
example in elucidation of this assertion. ini
Behold the enamoured youth, who, after hav
ing struggled for years with an unebbing current
of obstacles, finds himself, at length , in possession
of the fair object of his heart's affection. Here ,
the reigning power must necessarily be the
passion of love, and it would be somewhat cyni
cal to look for any thing else. Ask him in what
his happiness consists, and what are the motives
that stimulate every action of his life , and he
will at once point to his beloved bride, without
 FACULTIES OF THE MIND . 241
whom , he will tell you, that all nature would be
a blank ; and, with whom , that a wilderness
would be a paradise. Behold her next, by the
stealthy and startling hand of death , snatched
awa
away from his embraces. What now is the con
dition of the mind ? the new motives that dis
tract it ? and the conduct to which they give
rise ? Is it possible that an ember of happiness
can remain to him now ? — Yes, even here, in
the rack of anguish, he has still his delight - a
lonely and melancholy one, I am compelled to
grant, buthe has his delightnotwithstanding ; and
the mind is as much hurried away, and as vio
lently, by the present impulse , which is to weep
over her remains, as by the past, which was to
OV

devote himself to her wishes :

He haunts the deep cathedral shade,
The green sward where his love is laid ,
And hugs her urn, and , o 'er the tomb
Hangs, and enjoys the specter'd gloom .
And oft to thee he lifts his eye,
·Mild empress of the spangled sky !
And thanks thy dewy beams, that guide.
His footsteps to his clay -cold bride,
And oft he asks the starry train
That circle round thy silver reign,
By which her parting spirit passid ,
And where she stay'd her flight at last.
He asks - and thither would he go
For what has nature now below ?

Thus far the mind has unquestionably evinced

little or no control ; and I bring forward these
descriptions as instances of its subjugation . But
VOL . III.
242 ON THE GENERAL

even here, in one of the severest trials with

which mankind can be visited, the mind gra
dually finds the means of recovering its ascend
ancy ; the passions, by degrees become tranquil
lized, and in their turn subdued ; the heart
softened, the judgment corrected and fortified,
and the reason set at liberty for reflection . The
pale sufferer perceives, at length, that happiness,
to be genuine, must be neither violent nor tran
sitory ; that its foundation must be permanent,
and its nature unalloyed. He yields himself to
this train of contemplation ; and the mind, now
fully reinstated in its government, indulges a
sober and rational grief, and arrives at a sober
and rational conclusion . It determines that
earth has no such happiness to offer him ; it may
perhaps lead him further, and prompt him to
seek it in a sublimer source.
This description I have drawn from the na
tural passions of the human heart - passions
that, in a greater or less degree, are common to
all countries and ages; but there are passions of
which uncultivated nature knows nothing , which
are the baneful offspring of a morbid civilization
and immoral habits, and which possess, if pos
sible, a still more tyrannical control over the
judgment than any that nature herself has im
planted within it. Such is the passion for GAMB
LING , which has often, even in the sobriety of our
own climate, maddened the brain ofmen who, but
for this, had been worthy members of society ,
and plunged them into the foulest vices, and at
 FACULTIES OF THE MIND . 243

length , into the deadly gulph of suicide. One

of the best pictures of the heart- rending despair
of such a wretch , just before the perpetration of
this horrible crime, is to be found in the de
scription of Beverley in “ The Gamester," who is
thus painted to the life, in the inevitable ruin
into which he was thrown after having staked
the last resource and final hope of his wife and
family on one unfortunate and fatal hazard :
" When all was lost, he fixed his eyes upon
the ground, and stood some time with folded
arms, stupid and motionless ; then, snatching his
sword that hung against the wainscot, he sat
him down, and with a look of fixed attention
drew figures on the floor. At last, he started
up ; looked wild , and trembled ; and, like a
woman, seized with her sex's fits, laughed out
aloud , while the tears trickled down his face.
So he left the room ." ;
Yet, even here, under the fell sway of this
accursed incantation , we are not without ex
amples of its being occasionally broken through ,
and its deadly fetters shaken off by the virtuous
resolution of a mind determined to prove its inde
pendence, and to act according to the dictates
of its better judgment. Asan example of which ,
among many others, I may refer to the conduct
of one of the first statesmen of our own country
and our own age ; á statesman , whose name
will ever be dear to Britain , on various accounts,
but chiefly, perhaps, since under his administra
tion, she set the glorious example to the world
R 2
244 ON THE GENERAL

of abolishing the slave- trade. In early life it is

well known that Mr. Fox was irresistibly ad
dicted to this intoxicating passion ; and it is
also equally known , that in his maturer life , he
tore himself from the further prosecution of it,
by a courageous determination from which he
never departed .
It appears obvious, then , that the mind both
can and ought to maintain a general mastery
over all its faculties ; and is able, at all times,
except in extreme cases, to furnish itself with
motives. And hence , though it is perfectly true
that it cannot will, or, in other words, cannot
choose or refuse without a motive , and to this
extent is under a necessity, yet the origination
or change of motives being vested in itself, it is
equally true that it is so far free to will, as well
as to act or perform what it wills.
If the distinction here offered had been pro
perly attended to, we should , as I am inclined
to think, have had fewer opponents in all ages,
to the doctrine of the freedom of the mind , or
of the will as it is commonly denominated .
Among the chief of these opponents we may
rank the Fatalists of ancient, and the Necessa
rians of modern times.
The general train of argument by which they
have been led, and the ground of its adoption ,
are not essentially different. Motives, volitions,
and actions, are supposed by both sects to be of
the same nature, in respect to relative force and
operation, as physical causes and effects ; and
 FACULTIES OF THE MIND . 245

consequently , the same catenation, or necessary

dependence of one fact upon another, which
marks the experienced train of events in the
natural world , is conceived to be perpetually
taking place in the moral : “ All voluntary ac
tions,” as Mr. Hume observes, « being subjected
to the same laws of necessity with the operations
of matter, and there being a continued chain of
necessary causes pre-ordained , and pre-deter
mined , reaching from the original cause of all
to every single volition of every human being.* "
Or, as another writer upon the same subject has
expressed it, - " The course of events, both
moral and physical, is fixed and immutable ; and
thoughts, volitions, and actions, proceed in one
interrupted concatenation from thebeginning to
the end of time, agreeably to the laws originally
established by the great Creator.”
So that, under the same circumstances the
samemotives must be produced in the mind of
every man, give rise to the same volitions, and
be succeeded by the same actions ; every one of
these, to adopt the language of the Fatalists,
being equally a link of that
Golden everlasting chain,
Whose strong embrace holdsheaven , and earth , and main .

" If it were not so, it is pretended that there

could be no mutual dependence or confidence
between man and man . No person , from the

. : * Essays : On Liberty and Necessity ; vol. ii.

R 3
 246 . ON THE GENERAL

appearance of one action as performed by his

neighbour, could infer a second, or form any
opinion of his character. And even the doctrine
of divine prescience must be entirely relinqui
shed ; since, without such a necessary and con
tion, it must be impossible for
the Deity himself to foresee any future event,
or to know it otherwise than as it occurs at the
moment.
It was notmy intention to have touched upon
this controversy, but the principles upon which
it hinges are so closely blended with the subject
before us, that it is impossible altogether to
elude it, though the remarks I propose to offer
shall be as brief and compressed as I am able to
make them .
In the first place, then , whatever be the ne,
cessary connection between motives, volitions,
and actions, it is by no means true that they are
“ subjected to the same laws of necessity with
the operations of matter.” Let me support this
assertion by a reference to a few simple facts.
A needle, or an iron ball, placed betwixt two
magnets of equal power, will fall to neither of
them , but remain midway at rest for ever, sus
pended between equally contending attractions.
Now , if the same laws of necessity control the
moral as control the physical world , a similar
moral cause must produce a similar moral effect ;
and the traveller who, by accident, after having
lost himself in a forest, should meet with two
roads running in opposite or different directions,
 FACULTIES OF THE MIND . 247

and offering in every respect an equal attraction ,

must, like the needle or bullet, remain for ever
at rest, because the motive to take one course is
just equipoised by the motive to take the other.
But can any man in his senses suppose he would
remain there for ever, and so starve himself
between equally contending attractions ? Or
rather, can any man suppose such a fact, pro
vided the traveller himself, were in his senses ?
Yet Montaigne, in support of this hypothesis, has
actually supposed such a fact, and has put forth
the following whimsical or facetious example :
“ Where themind,” says he, “ is at the same time
equally influenced by two equal desires, it is
certain it can never comply with either of them ,
because a consent and preference would evince
a dissimilarity in their value. If a man should
chance to be placed between a bottle of wine
and a Westphalia ham , with an equal inclination
to eat and to drink, there could , in this case, be
no possible remedy ; and by the law of neces
sity he must die either of hunger or thirst. The
Stoics, therefore," continues he, “ who weremost
rigidly attached to the doctrine of fatalism , when
asked how themind determineswhen two objects
of equal desire are presented to it, or what is the
reason that out of a number of crown pieces it
selects one rather than another, there being no
motive to excite a preference, reply, that this
action of themind is extraordinary and irregular,
and proceeds from an impulse equally irregular
and fortuitous. But it would be better,” con
R 4
 248 ON THE GENERAL

tinuesMontaigne, in my estimation , " to maintain

that no two objects can be presented to us so
perfectly equal, but that some trifling difference
may subsist, and some small superiority be dis
coverable either in the one or the other.”
And no doubt it would be better to maintain
such a position ; but, who does not see that
this is to give up the question ? to renounce the
point upon which we are at issue, and openly to
confess that there does not exist in the moral
world the same counterpoise of cause and cause
that is to be perpetually met with in the natural.
Let us confine ourselves to one more example.
A cannon-ball, discharged from the centre of a
circle, and equally attracted to the north and to
the east, will proceed towardsneither point ; but
at an angle of 221 degrees, or immediately be
tween the two. But is there any one, unincum
bered with a strait-waistcoat, who can suppose
that such a rule has any application to the
motive powers of themind ? who can conceive,
that a man , starting at Blackfriar's Bridge, and
having business so equally urgent at Highgate
and at Mile- end, that he is incapable of determin -.
ing to which place he shall proceed first, would ,
proceed to neither, but take a course between ,
the two, and walk in a straight line to Hackney
or Newington Green ? Yet, unless he should
thus act, not occasionally , or by accident, but
uniformly , and at all times, there is not in the
mind the same law of operation, the same sort
of necessity, as in matter ; but a something,
 FACULTIES OF THE MIND . 249

whatever it may be, producing and designed to

produce an irreconcilable distinction ; and , in
the correct language of the Epicurean philoso
phers, perpetually labouring to prevent the same
blind force from vanquishing the one as it leads
captive the other :
Nemens ipsa necessum
Intestinum habeat cunctis in rebus agundis,
ET DEVICTA QUASI, COGATUR FERRE, PATIQUE. *
Lest the mind
Bend to a stern necessity within ,
AND, LIKE A SLAVE, DETERMINE BUT BY FORCE.

Butwe are told, that unless the moral world

were thus constituted , there could be no mutual
confidence between man and man ; no series of
actions could be depended upon , and it would
be impossible to distinguish between one cha
racter and another; or, in other words, how long
the same individual would maintain the same
character.
Now this kind of argument, if accurately ex
amined , just as much invalidates the doctrine it
is intended to support as the preceding. There
is no one who pretends to place the samedegree
of confidence in the general course of human
actions as in the experienced train of natural
events. Even where the circumstances to reason
from are equally definite, moral dependence is in
all instances less certain than physical, and never

* De Rer. Nat. ii. 289.

250 ON THE GENERAL

amounts to more than a probability. The closest

friendships may fail, the purest virtue become
tarnished ; and, in thewords of Sophocles, which
I mustbeg leave to put into our own language

The power of all things cease ; e'en sacred oaths

At times be broke, and the determin 'd mind
Forego its steady purpose.
Material causes, on the contrary , are regular
in their operations, and uninterrupted in their
effects. Nobody doubts that the sun will rise to
morrow ; that a cannon-ball will sink in water ;
or that, if the lamps over our heads were to be
extinguished , we should be in darkness. The
power of Buonaparte, when in the zenith of his
success, was absolute and almost unbounded , but
did even this ensure steadiness of conduct? Quite
the reverse. We behold the decrees of to-day
overthrown by those of to -morrow , and, in the
blind and overwhelming career of his ambition ,
his hosts of blood-hounds that have just plun
dered his enemies next sent against his friends ;
we behold every thing in nature , that is within
his reach, tottering and out of joint ; while every
thing that is beyond and above him continues
steadfast and unchangeable ; the air is as vital as
ever, the seasons as regular in their courses, and,
to adopt the beautiful language of our poet
laureate -
The moon ,
Regardless of the stir of this low world ,
Holds on her heavenly way.
 FACULTIES OF THE MIND. 251
. But we are farther told , that, unless there be
the same fixed and dependent chain established
in themoral creation which unquestionably exists
in the physical, the Deity himself could have no
prescience or foreknowledge of human conduct.
And so forcible has this argument appeared to
somemen, and men, too, of acknowledged worth
and piety, that in the dilemma into which they
have felt themselves thrown, like the Brahmins
of the East, they have utterly abandoned the
doctrine of divine prescience in favour of that
of moral liberty.
1. Shallow and impotent conclusion ! Absurd ad
mission of an hostility that has no existence ! As
though he who sees through infinite -space, is in
capable of seeing through the brief duration of
time ; or as though, like Theseus in the Cretan
labyrinth , the great author of nature stands in
need of a thread to guide him through the maze
of his own creation, and dependsupon every pre
ceding event as a direction -post to that which
follows. There are contingencies in the natural
as well as in themoralworld , though they are far
less frequent because far less necessary . Miracles
are of this description ; they are direct and pal
pable deviations from the common laws of nature,
the common routine of causes and effects ; and
he who denies that the Deity can know any
thing of contingencies, in the one case, ought
also to deny that he can know any thing of
them in the other ; for the necessary and con
secutive chain of causation , upon which alone
 252 ON THE GENERAL ,

such philosophers found the attribute of pre

science, is equally broken in both instances .
But such philosophers have to deny still more
than this, or they must abandon their principle
altogether. They have equally to deny that the
Deity can see or know any thing of such anoma
lies, even when present ; for if he can only know
events as successive and necessary links of pre
ceding events, the tie being broken , on their ap
pearance, and the anomalous events detached ,
he can have no more knowledge of them when
gone by or present than when future. It may,
perhaps, be thought, that when present and
operating they pass before him . Pass before
him ! O puerile and miserable conception of the
Divinity ! All nature is equally before him , in
every point of space, and every moment of eter
nity, and he who denies God to be every where,
must deny him to be any where ; unless he sees
and knows every thing, he must see and know
nothing . Miracles and moral contingencies,
then , are as much provided for, and must be so ,
as the most common train of natural events. It
is true we know nothing of the arrangement by
which they subsist, but they are and must be
provided for nevertheless. It is here and here
only we ought to rest — in an equal acknow
ledgment of human ignorance, and divine per
fection ; — for it is, assuredly , not quite con
sistent either with the modesty of genuine phi
losophy, or the reverence of religious faith , to
controvert a truth because we cannot account
 FACULTIES OF THE MIND. 253
for it ; or to pluck away attribute after attribute
from the diadem of the Deity, out of mere
compliment to the demand of a fanciful and
empty hypothesis. I retreat from this subject,
however, with pleasure. It is too perplexed
and mysterious for popular discussion, and I am
fearful of darkening it by illustration . I should
not have touched upon it, but that I have been
forced, by the regular progress of our own en
quiries ; and now turn, with a free and unfettered
foot, to the study of the passions ; their general
nature and influence upon human actions and
language ; which we shall enter upon in our next
lecture.
 254 .

LECTURE IX .
ON THE ORIGIN, CONNEXION , AND CHARACTER
OF THE PASSIONS.

Wehave entered upon an enquiry concerning

the nature and operation of the various faculties
that constitute the general furniture of the
mind. These we have divided into three
classes ; the faculties of the understanding, the
faculties of volition , and the passions or faculties
of emotion . The commencement of the present
series of lectures was devoted to an illustration
of the first; the second we discussed in our pre
ceding study ; and we now advance to a brief
analysis of the third .
In sailing over the sea of life, the passions are
the gales that swell the canvas of the mental
bark ; they obstruct, or accelerate its course ; and
render 'the voyage favourable or full of danger,
in proportion as they blow steadily from a proper
point, or are adverse and tempestuous. Like
the wind itself, they are an engine of high im
portance and mighty power. Without them we
cannot proceed ; but with them we may be ship .
wrecked and lost. Reined in , therefore, and
attempered, they constitute , as I have already
 ON THE ORIGIN , CONNEXION, & c. 255
observed, our happiness ; but let loose and at
random , they distract and ruin us.

How few , beneath auspicious planet born,

With swelling sails make good the promis'd port,
With all their wishes freighted. YOUNG .

Let it not be forgotten, however, that the

passions are not distinct agents, but mere af
fections or emotions, mere states or conditions
of the mind, excited by an almost infinite variety
of external objects and events, or internal oper
ations and feelings. And here, the first re
mark that will probably occur to us is, that,
derived from sources thus numerous and diver
sified , they must themselves form a numerous
and motley host. Some of them are simple ,
others complex ; some peculiar to certain cir
cumstances or individuals, others general, and
embracing all countries and conditions ; some
possessing a natural tendency to promote what
is good ; and others, what is mischievous and
evil ; while many of them , again , though dis
tinguished by separate names, only differ from
other passions in degree ; and hence, naturally
merge into them upon a change in the scale .
It has often occurred to me, that if we were
to follow up all the passions, multiplied and
complicated as they are , to their radical sources,
and to draw out their respective genealogies,
we might easily reduce them to four - Desire,
Aversion, Joy , and Sorrow . And as aversion
 256 ON THE ORIGIN , CONNEXION ,

and sorrow are only the opposites of desire and

joy, and must necessarily flow from their ex
istence in a state of things in which all we meet
with is not to be desired or enjoyed , it is pos
sible that desire and joy ought alone to be
regarded as the proper parent stocks of all the
rest. Let us examine them for a few minutes
under this system of simplification . !
Perhaps the oldest, simplest, and most uni
versal passion that stirs the inind of man , is
DESIRE. So universal is it, that I may confidently
ask, where is the created bosom – nay, where is
the created being, without it ? And Dryden is
fully within the mark in asserting, that
Desire's the vast extent of human mind.
AVERSION, which is its opposite, is less uni
versal, less simple, and of later birth . It is less
universal, for though there is no created being
exempt from it, nor ought to be so upon certain
points, it is more limited in its objects and
operation . It is of later date, at least among
mankind , for the infant desires before it dislikes;
and hence there is as much physical truth as
picturesque genius in the following exhortation of
Akenside, to the lovers of taste and nature : -

Through all the maze

Of YOUNG DESIRE, with rival steps pursue
The charm of beauty .

And it is less simple, as being the opposite of

desire , and in a certain sense flowing from it,
 AND CHARACTER OF THE PASSIONS. 257
and connected with its existence ; the whole of
its empire being founded on objects and ideas
that the elder passion of desire has rejected.
Now the main streams that issue from DESIRE,
running in different directions, and giving rise
to multitudes of secondary streams, are the
three following : - LOVE, HOPE, EMULATION . Ex
amine them attentively , and you will find , that,
different as they are from each other, they all
possess the sperm and parentage of DESIRE, and
possess it equally.
Love is not simple desire , but flows from it, .
and is so closely connected with it, that some
shade of the latter passion is, in every instance,
to be found in the former. The termsare hence,
in some particular senses, and especially when
employed loosely, used in all languages syno
nymously : whence EROS ( 'Egw ) among the
elegantGreeks, and Cupido among the Romans,
was the god equally appointed to preside over
both passions. It is from the latter tongue we
obtain in our own language the word cupidity ,
which in like manner embraces both ideas .
Spenser has made desire the offspring of love,
rather than love the offspring of desire; but this
is to invert the order of nature . The first in
stinctive passion discoverable in infant life, as
I have already observed, is desire a desire of
satisfying the new -born sensation of hunger ; and
love — that is, love of the object that gratifies it,
follows from the gratification itself ; nor can we,
through any period of life, love what in our own
VOL. III.
258 ON THE ORIGIN , CONNEXION , . .
estimation is undesirable. In many cases, for
there are innumerable shades belonging to both ,
love may be regarded as the same passion as de
sire, but with an increase of intensity ; as ha- .
tred, which is its opposite, is the samepassion as
'aversion , but with a parallel advance in the scale .
There are, however, various marks of differ
VC

ence ; and I may observe, that while desire is

never without a less or greater degree of uneasi
ness, love, though it is sometimes accompanied
with the same feeling, is occasionally free from
it, and always so, when perfectly genuine.
" Before we proceed to the two other main
branches which radiate from DESIRE, let us fol
low up the subsidiary streams into which the
passion of LOVE ramifies. These run in two op .
posite directions, according as they possess a
virtuousor a vicious tendency ; and in each direc
tion they are extremely prolific, and offer to us
a numerous progeny. Thus, on the one hand,we
Tero

behold the passion or feeling of love giving birth

to charity ,benevolence,philanthropy, pity,mercy,
fellow - feeling, which the Latins called compas
sion ,and theGreekssympathy ; generosity , friend
ship, and ardour. They form a chaste and a
happy group , are full of social affection , and are
hence often called, after the name of the eldest
sister, the charITIES of life or of the heart.

Mercy, and Truth , and hospitable Care,

And kind connubial Tenderness, are there ;
And Piety, with wishes placed above,
And sweetest Sympathy, and boundless Love .
GOLDSMITH , altered.
 AND CHARACTER OF THE PASSIONS. 259

On the other hand, we behold issuing from

the same source a variety of restless and turbu
lent affections, which, from their characteristic
violence, contribute equally , perhaps, to the
unhappiness of those who possess them , and to
the world on which they are exercised. To
this tribe belong avarice, or the love of gain ;
ambition, or the love of power ; pride and vanity,
or the love of pomp, splendour, and ostentation ;
selfishness, or the love of the person , in common
language, self-love : though the whole of these
being of a selfish character, this latter term
might, with as much propriety , apply to every
one of them , as that of charity or the love of
others to each of the preceding division .
: Most of these are admirably described or al
legorised by Spenser, in his Fairie Queene,
which will be found to afford a most powerful
illustration of the general hints here offered . I
would readily bring instances in proof of this re
mark if our time would allow : as a single exam .
ple of the force of his imagination, let me
especially direct your attention to his entire
delineation of avarice or mammon, and particu
larly the following picturesque representation of
his dwelling —

Both roofe and foore, and walls, were all of gold ,

But overgrowne with dust and old decay,
And hid in darkness, that none could behold
The hew thereof : for vew of cherefull day
Did never in that house itselfe display,
s 2
260 . ON TẢE ORIGIN , CONNEXION ; .

But A FAINT SHADOW OF UNCERTAIN LIGHT :

• Such AS A LAMP, WHOSE LIFE DOES FADE AWAY ;
Or AS THE MOONE, CLOATHED WITH CLOWDY NIGHT,
DOES SHEW TO HIM THAT WALKES IN FEARE AND SAD
AFFRIGHT. *

HOPE I have enumerated as the second main

štream that emanates from thepassion of DESIRE .
Try the world , examine your own hearts, and
you will agree with ine that this is its source.
Hope must spring from desire , and cannot exist
without it : as it rises in the scale, it becomes
trust or confidence ; and confidence, according
to the alliance it forms with other feelings or af.
fections, gives birth to two very different families .
United to a vigorous judgment and an ardent
imagination, it produces courage, magnanimity ,
patience, intrepidity, enterprise ; combined with
vanity or self-love, the complex and mischievous
brood is self-opinion, impudence, audacity, and
conceit.
Hope, however , is not produced singly. It is
a twin passion, and its congenital sister is Fear.
This has not been sufficiently attended to by
pathognomists ; but examine the general tenour
and accompaniment of the passions as they rise
in your hearts, and you will find the present
statement correct. Hope and fear spring equally
from desire - - the hope of gaining the desired
object, and the fear of losing it. They run the
same race, though with varying degrees of
* B . ii. cant. vii. xxix .
 AND CHARACTER OF THE PASSIONS. 261
strength , and terminate their joint career in the
antagonist extreme points of fruition or despair ;
the powers of hope growing gradually. more
intense as it approaches the former goal, and
those of fear as it approaches the latter.
I have said that at these boundaries they ter
minate their respective career ; but fear does not
always. cease with fruition . Uncertainty and
change are so strongly written on all earthly en ,
joyments, that even in the firmest possession we
have still some fear of losing them ; so that we
can seldom say, “ what a man hath , why doth he
yet fear for ?” though nothing is more pertinent
than the opposite inquiry, " what a man hath ,
why doth he yet hope for ? ” Fruition without
fear is reserved for, and will be, the great prero
gative of a higher state of being.
Fear, however, like hope, in its progress
through life, formsother alliances than that which
springs during its infancy. Combined with a
sense of failure or imperfection in our own powers,
it takes a right direction , and produces caution ,
timidity, bashfulness, diffidence, respect, and
complaisance :'united to friendship , love, or:com -.
placency, it engenders gratitude, devotion , re
verence, veneration , and awe, which are only
different degrees of the same feeling : and hence
the term Fear, in the sense we are now taking of
1 F

it, becomes an apt and beautiful type of every

religious affection ; of desire ; as love, gratitude,
zeal, devotion , and awe ; for we have just traced
it as branching up in this direct line of descent,
s 3
 262 ON THE ORIGIN , CONNEXION ,

. : The connexions of fear, moreover, like those of

hope, are of a bad as well as of a good character :
united to a judgment that measures its powers
amiss, and entertains too mean an opinion of
them , it degenerates into irresolution, doubt,
cowardice, and pusillanimity : combined with a
restless and irritable imagination , it begets 'sus
picion , jealousy, dread , terror ; and terror, when
combined with hate, gives birth to the passion of
horror. It is in this last character , as connected
with the fancy or imagination, thatthe term FEAR
is for the most part employed by the dramatists ;
and it is to this that Collins has entirely confined
himself in his celebrated ode upon the subject.
Thou to whom the world unknown,
With all its shadowy shapes, is shown ;
Who seest, appallid , th ' unreal scene
When Fancy lifts the veil between , -
Ah, Fear ! ah , frantic Fear !
I see, I see thee near.
I know thy hurried step, thy haggard eye :
Like thee I start, like thee disorder'd fly .

The third main passion which issues from the

common stock ofDESIRE Ihave said iSEMULATION .
This, when properly attempered, and connected
with what have already appeared to be the social
affections, is one of the noblest and most valuable
emotions that actuates the human heart. It com
mences early , and often accompanies us to the
closing scene of life . It inspirits the play of the
infant, the task of the school-boy, and the busy
 AND CHARACTER OF THE PASSIONS. 263
career of the man . It gives health and vigour
to the first, applause and distinction to the
second, and riches and honour to the third ,
But emulation, instead of being connected with
the social, is often connected with the selfish
affections , and in this case it degenerates into
rivalry, an ungenerous strife to equal or surpass
a competitor where there is a chance of success ;
or into envy, which is a mixture of emulation and
hatred , where there is not.
The antagonist passion to DESIRE IS AVERSION,
which has also , like desire, different degrees of
intensity, and a family of diversified characters,
though in neither respect so numerous or com .
plicated as the former.
It not unfrequently unites itself to pride, and
produces as its progeny the jaundiced family of .
scorn , contempt, and disdain ; the last of which
is thus described by Spenser :
His lookswere dreadful, and his fiery eyes,
Like two great beacons, glared far and wide,
Glancing askew , as if his enemies
He scorned in his overweening pride ; .
And stalking stately, like a crane did stride.
At every step upon the tip -toes high ;
And all the way he went, on every side
He gazed about, and stared horribly ,
As if he, with his looks, allmen would terrify .
Aversion , combined with a quick sense of
being wronged , whether real or imaginary, be
comes anger ; anger, when violent or ungovern
able, is denominated rage or fury ; and, when
S 4
26 % ON THE ORIGIN , CONNEXION ,

stimulated by a determination to retaliate, it as

sumes the name and shape of revenge. Hatred
is only aversion advanced to a higher degree in
the scale ; and hatred, colleaged with a fixed and
clandestine desire to injure, degenerates into
malice ; the foulest, most despicable, and most
devilish of all the passions that can harass an
intelligent being, and the most opposite to the
character of the divinity ; for God is love, and
the stamp of benevolence is imprinted on every
part of creation .
De secrètes beautés quel amas innombrable !
Plus l’Auteur s'est caché, plus il est admirable ! *
What boundless beauties round us are display'd !
How shines the Godhead mid the darkest shade ! -
Such, then , are the numerous and diversified
families that issue directly or collaterally from
the passion of desire, or of aversion as its op
posite . I stated this passion to be almost uni
versal in its range, and I submit to you whether
this statement has not been verified .
The two other radical sources into which we
are to resolve the remaining passions of the heart
are joy and SORROW : of equal weight and mo
ment in the scale of life, but less numerous and
complicated in their offspring ; and which will,
therefore, detain us but for a few minutes.
Joy, when pure and genuine, is a sweet and
vivacious affection. It is the test and index of
happiness or pleasure. Its influence, like that of
* Racine le fils, Poëme de la Religion .
 AND CHARACTER OF THE PASSIONS. 265

gravitation, extends to remote objects ; and it

lightens the severest labours by its foretaste. It
is the breath , the nectar of heaven , and the high
reward, which stimulates us to a performance of
our duty while on earth .
Joy, like several of thepreceding passions,has
different names assigned to it, in its different
stages of ascent ; at its lowest point, it is ease,
content, or tranquillity ; at a certain elevation ,
it is called delight or gladness ; somewhat far
ther in the scale, exultation ; beyond this, rap .
ture or transport, — for the terms, as applied to
this passion, are synonymous ; and advanced far
higher, it is ecstasy - joy so overwhelming as to
take away the senses, and prevent all power of
utterance. Among the Greeks, however, the
term ECSTASY was used in a more general sense,
and applied to any overwhelming affection ,
whether of joy or sorrow ; and Shakspeare, who
has often carried it farther than the Greeks, oc
casionally makes it a feature ofmadness or mental
distraction , which is not passion but disease.
The following from his Hamlet is an instance of
this signification.
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason ,
· Like sweet bells jangled , out of tune and harsh ;
That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth
Blasted with ECSTASY.

Combined with activity, joy producesthe light

hearted family of cheerfulness, gaiety , mirth ,
frolic, and jocularity ; the best andmost lively
 266 ON THE ORIGIN , CONNEXION ,

picture of which that the world has ever seen, is

given by Milton in his Allegro, mirth being here
placed at the head of the whole. .

Haste thee, nymph , and bring with thee

Jest and youthful Jollity,
Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles,
Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek ,
And love to live in dimple sleek ;
Sport, that wrinkled care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come, and trip it as you go
On the light fantastic toe.
And in thy right hand lead with theç
The mountain nymph , sweet Liberty .

Possessing features in many respects similar, we

meet with another lively tribe, which are equally
the offspring of joy, but of joy in alliance with
an ardent imagination . These are sentimentalism ,
characterised by romantic views or ideas of real
life ; chivalry , which is the sentimentalism of
gallantry , caparisoned for action, and impatient
to enter the burning list,
Where throngs of knights and barons bold
In weeds of peace high triumphs hold ,
With stores of ladies, whose bright eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prize.
This extravagant passion had its use in the
feudal times ; but it has for ages become anti
quated, and in modern warfare has certainly
too much gone out of fashion , . ..
 AND CHARACTER OF THE PASSIONS. 267

To the same tribe belongs enthusiasm , the

joyous or ecstatic devotion of a high -wrought
fancy to someparticular cause or party, the chief
of which are religion and patriotism : and under
the influence of which , the body is wound up to
a display of almost preternatural exploits, and
an endurance of almost miraculous privations
and labour.
The sprightly passion of joy gives birth also to
a third tribe, in consequence of its union with
novelty. It is a listening and attentive group,
and consists of admiration, surprise, wonder, and
astonishment : upon which I need not enlarge ,
except to remark that the word astonishment is,
at times, made use of to express a very different
feeling, produced by novelty and terror ; and
which is more accurately distinguished by the
name of amazement. These mixed passions, how
ever, are very apt to run into each other, as I
shall have occasion to notice more at large in a
subsequent study ; and perhaps the most ex
quisite feeling a man can possess of the purely
mental kind, is derived from a contemplation of
scenery , or a perusal of history, where every
thing around him is grand, majestic,and marvel
lous, and the terrible keeps an equal, or rather
nearly an equal pace with the delightful.
The opposite of Joy is SORROW — a fruitful
mother of hideous and unwelcome children ;
fruitful I mean on earth, but shut out with a
wall of adamant from the purer regions of the
skies.
 268 ON THE ORIGIN , CONNEXION ,

Sorrow is as much distinguished by different

names as any of the preceding affections, accord
ing to the height it reaches in the general scale
of evil. And hence , at one point, it is sadness ;
at another, woe or misery ; at a third, anguish ;
and at its extreme verge, distraction or despair .
Connected with a sense of something lost, or
beyond our reach , it gives rise to regret and
grief: and when in union with a feeling of guilt,
it becomes remorse and repentance.
Its two bosom companions, however, are fear
and fancy. When allied to the former alone, it
produces the haggard progeny of care, anxiety ,
vexation , and fretfulness ; the first of which is
thus adınirably described by Hawkesworth , in
his ingenious but melancholy piece, entitled
Life , an Ode ; in which care is directly stated, as
in the present case , to be a mixed breed ofwoe
or sorrow and fear.
Who art thou, with anxious mien
Stealing o'er the shifting scene ?
Eyes with tedious vigils red ,
Sighs by doubts and wishes bred ;
Cautious step and glancing leer,
Speak thy woes, and speak thy fear .
When sorrow associates herself with both fear
and fancy, she then produces the demon brood
of dejection , gloom , vapours, moroseness, hea
viness, and melancholy ; all of them begotten,
like the last,
In Stygian cave forlorn ,
'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy . ?
18
 AND CHARACTER OF THE PASSIONS. 269

Such is the origin of melancholy, as given by

Milton, in his Allegro, or ode to Mirth ; but in
his Penseroso , or ode to Melancholy herself, he
derivesher from a purer source,and dresses her in
the pensive character of a religious recluse . The
picture shows a fine imagination ;but is, perhaps,
less true to nature than the preceding.

Come, pensive nun, devout and pure,

Sober, steadfast, and demure,
All in a robe of darkest grain ,
Flowing with majestic train ,
And sable stole of cypress lawn
Over thy decent shoulders drawn
Come, but keep thy wonted state ,
With even step , and musing gait,
And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes.
There, held in holy passion , still
Forget thyself to marble, till
With a sad, leaden, downward cast,
Thou fix them on the earth at last.

Despair or distraction brings up the rear of

the miserable and tumultuous group before us.
This passion has generallybeen contemplated as a
mingled emotion ; but it is perhaps far less so than
most of the rest. It is a concentration of pure,
unmitigated horror, equally void of hope, fear, and
all moral feeling - an awful type of the torments
of the lower world . The sensorial power is hur
ried forward towards a single outlet, and with a
rushing violence that threatens its instantaneous
exhaustion from the entire frame, like the dis
charge of electricity accumulated in a Leyden
270 ON THE ORIGIN , CONNEXION,
jar when touched by a brass rod . The eye is
fixed ; the limbs tremble ; upon the countenance
hangs a wild and unutterable sullenness. The
harrowed and distracted soul shrinks at nothing,
and is attracted by nothing : the deepest danger
and the tenderest ties have equally lost their
command over it.
Despair is, hence, the most selfish of all the
passions. In its overwhelming agony, and
its pressing desire of gloom and solitude,
it approaches to what is ordinarily called
HEART-ACHE ; but, generally speaking, the emo
tion is far more contracted and personal, and the
action far more precipitous and daring. De
spair , as it commonly shews itself, is either hope
lessness from mortified pride, blasted expecta
tions, or a sense of personal ruin . -
The gamester, who cares for no one but him
self, may rage with all the horror of despair ;
but the heart-ache belongs chiefly to the man of
a warmer and more generousbosom , stung to the
quick by a wound he least expected , or borne
down , not by the loss of fortune, but of a dear
friend or relation, in whom he had concentrated
all his hopes. The well-known picture of Be
verley is drawn by the hand of a master, and he
is represented as maddened by the thought of
the deep distress into which his last hazard had
plunged his wife and family ; but if his selfish
love of gaming had not triumphed over his rela
tive love for those he had thus ruined, he would
not have been involved in any such reverse of for
 AND CHARACTER OF THE PASSIONS. 271
tune ; nor, without the same selfishness; would he
further have added to their blow by a deed that
was sure to withdraw him for ever from all share
in their misery, and overwhelm them with an
accumulated sbock. While Beverley was in de.
spair, it was his wife who was broken -hearted.*
The picture which Spenser has drawn of de
spair, as seated in his own wretched cave, has
been praised by every one from the time of Sir
Philip Sidney ; but it has always appeared to
me that his description of Sir Trevisan, who was
fortunate enough to escape from the enchant
ment of this demon - power, is still more forcibly
drawn in the passage where, on the commence
ment of his flight,he is represented as accidentally
meeting with the Red Cross Knight :

He answered nought at all ; but adding new

Feare to his first amazement, staring wyde
With stony eyes, and hartless, hollow vew ,
Astonisht stood, as one that had aspyde
Infernall furies with their chaines untyde.
Him yett againe, and yett againe, bespake
The gentle Knight, who nought to him replyde ;
But, trembling every ioynt, did inly quake,
And foltring tongue at last these words seem 'd forth
to shake -
“ For God's dear love, sir Knight, doe menot stay ;
For loe ! he comes, he comes fast after mee !” .
Eft looking back , would faine have runne away ;
But he him forst to stay, and tellen free

* Study of Medicine, vol. iv . p . 133. edit 2nd , 1825.

+ Faerie Queene, b . i. c . ix . 24, 25.
 272 ON THE ORIGIN , CONNEXION ,

Such , as it appears to me, are the chief pas

sions or faculties of emotion discoverable in the
human mind. I submit, however, the present
analysis and classification of them with some
degree of diffidence ; for, as far as I am aware ,
it is the first attempt of the kind that has ever
been ventured upon ; and, like other first attempts,
it may perhaps be open to the charge of con
siderable imperfections and errors. Be this,
however, as it may, it at least offers us a new
key to the mind 's complicated construction in
one branch of its study, simplifies its machinery,
and perhaps unfolds a few springs which have
never hitherto been sufficiently brought into
public view .
I have said that the use of the passions is to
furnish us with happiness, as that of the intel
lectual faculties is with knowledge, and that of
the faculties of volition with freedom . But from
the survey thus far taken , it must be obvious to
every one, that the passions furnish us with
misery as well as with happiness. And it may,
perhaps, become a question with many, whether
the harvest of the former be not more abundant
than that of the latter. We cannot, therefore,
close this subject better than by briefly inquiring
whether the passions produce happiness at all ?
Whether, allowing the affirmative, they produce
more happiness than misery , and whether the
present constitution of things would be improved
if those that occasionally produce misery were
to be banished from the list ? .
 AND CHARACTER OF THE PASSIONS. 273 .
Supposing, by a decree of the Creator, all the
mental passions were to be eradicated from the
human frame, and nothing were to remain to it
but a sense of corporeal pain and pleasure, —
what would be the consequence under the present
state of things, with this single alteration ? Man
would cease to be a social being ; the sweet ties
of domestic life would be cut asunder ; the
pleasures of friendship , the luxury of doing good ,
the fine feeling of sympathy, the sublimity of
devotion, would be swept away in a moment.
The world would become an Asphaltitis, a dead
and stagnant sea, with a smooth unruffled calm ,
more hideous than the roughest tempest. No
breeze of hope or fear, of desire or emulation ,
of love or gaiety, would play over it : the har
mony of the seasons would be lost upon us, and
the magnificence of the creation become a blank.
The wants and gratifications of the body might
instigate us, perhaps , to till the soil ; to engage
in commerce and mechanical pursuits, and to pro
vide a generation to succeed us. And if literature
should exist at all, a few cold and calculating
philosophers might spin out their dull fancies
upon abstract speculations, and a few Lethean
poets write odes upon indifference ; butall would
be selfish and solitary . The master-tie would be
snapped ; the spiritus rector would be evapo
rated , and every man would be a stranger to
every man .
To a state of being thus torpid and mono
tonous, let us now grant the pleasurable passions,
VOL . III. . T
274 ON THE ORIGIN , CONNEXION ,
and withhold those that accompany or indicate
uneasiness. Now , uneasiness, as I have already
observed , is, in some degree or other, an essential
attendant upon desire, hope, and emulation ; and
hence these passions must as necessarily be ex
cluded here as under the former scheme. For
a similar reason , wemust allow neither generosity ,
nor gratitude, nor compassion ; for put away all
sorrow and aversion, all mental pain and uneasi
ness, and such affections could have no scope for
their exertion : they must necessarily have no ex
istence.
But still the world would be thronged with a
gay and lively troop of passions; love and trans
port, mirth and jollity, would revel with an unin
terrupted career : not a cloud would obstruct
the laughing sunshine; and man would drink his
full from the sea of pleasure, and intoxicate him
self without restraint.
But how long would this scene of ecstasy con
tinue ? Under the present constitution of na
ture, not a twelvemonth . In less than a year,
the world , in respect to its inhabitants, would
cease to exist : worn out by indulgence, and
destroyed for want of those very uneasinesses,
those pains, and sorrows, those aversions and
hatreds, which , when skilfully intermixed and
directed , like wholesome but unpalatable medi
cines, chiefly contribute to its moralhealth ; and
form the best barriers against that misery and
ruin , which, when superficially contemplated,
they seem expressly intended to produce ; but
21
 AND CHARACTER OF THE PASSIONS. 275

which man must be obnoxious to in a state of

imperfection and trial, and would be infinitely
more so but for their presence and operation .
The sum of the inquiry, then , is, that all the

bute to the general good of mankind ; and that

it is the abuse of them , the allowing them to run
wild and unpruned in their career, and not
the existence of any of them , that is to be
lamented. While there are things that ought to
be hated, and deeds that ought to be bewailed,
aversion and grief are as necessary to the mind
as desire and joy. It is the duty of the judgment
to direct and to moderate them ; to discipline
them into obedience, and attune them to har
mony. The great object of moral education is
to call forth , instruct, and fortify the judgment
upon this important science ; to let it feel its
own power, and accustom it to wield the sceptre
entrusted to it with dexterity and steadiness.
Where this is accomplished , the violent passions
can never show themselves -- they can have no
real existence; for we have already produced evi
dence that they are nothing more than the simpler
affections, discordantly associated or raised to an
improper pitch . Where this is accomplished , the
sea of life will, for the most part, be tranquiland
sober, --- not from indifference or the want of
active powers, but from their nice balance and
concord ; and if, in the prosecution of the voy
age, the breeze should be fresh , it will be still
friendly , and quicken our course to the desired
T 2
276 ON THE ORIGIN , CONNEXION , & c.
THE DRI ONNEXIL

haven. Finally, wherever this is accomplished ,

man appears in his true dignity - he has
achieved the great point for which he was was

created, and visions of unfading glory swell

before him , as the forthcoming reward of his
present triumph.
 277

LECTURE X .
ON THE LEADING CHARACTERS AND PASSIONS OF
SAVAGE AND CIVILISED LIFE .

In the preceding lecture but one I stated , as

may, perhaps, be remembered by many of the
audience before me, that, of the numerous and
complicated faculties which form the nice me
chanism of the human mind , sometimes one,
sometimes another, and sometimes several in
conjunction, appear peculiarly active and pro
minent, and acquire a mastery over the rest ; and
that such effect is, in different instances, the
result of different causes, as peculiarity of tem
perament, peculiarity of climate, or peculiarity
of local or national habits and associations. Let
us pursue this subject, and make it a ground
work for the present lecture .
All violent passions are evil, or in other words,
produce, or tend to produce, unhappiness : for
evil and unhappiness are only commutable terms.
There is no proposition in morals that admits of
clearer proof. Some violent passions are evil in
trinsically ; others as extremes of those that are
good ; and all of them as refractory and hostile
to the legitimate control of the understanding.
For happiness , as wehad lately occasion to prove,
T 3
 278 ON THE LEADING PASSIONS

is a state of discipline ; and is only to be found,

in any considerable degree of purity and per
manency (without which qualities it is unworthy
of the name), in a regulated and harmonious
mind ; where reason is the charioteer, and reins,
and guides, and moderates the mental coursers
in the great journey of life, with a firm and mas.
terly hand .
Itmay , hence, be supposed, that the greatest
degree of violence and unhappiness to be met
with any where, is among savages ; since, un
questionably , it is here that the traces of dis
cipline are most feeble and obscure. And such ,
in fact, is the concurrent opinion of moralists
and civilians. But it is an opinion which should
be given with some degree of hesitation. It is
true so far as the simpler passions, and especially
those of the selfish class ,are concerned, passions
which are more or less common to all countries
and conditions ; but civil life has passions pe
culiar to itself, and passions, too, of peculiar
force and obstinacy, that
Grow with its growth ,and strengthen with its strength ,
which no system of internal discipline seems at
all times capable of moderating ; which , in too
many instances, we behold defying, with equal
contumacy, all the laws of religion and morality ;
and, consequently, introducing into the world
pains and penalties, mischiefs and miseries, which
the tribes of barbarous and uncultivated nature,
amidst all their evils , know nothing of.
 OF SAVAGE AND CIVILISED LIFE . 279
To a certain extent, it is, however, probable ,
that the common opinion is correct, and that the
greatest portion of violence and wretchedness is
to be met with in savage life .
Now what are the passions that are chiefly
brought into action, in this low and lamentable
state of existence ? Let us take a brief survey of
them , it may prove an interesting inquiry, --
and examine the changes they undergo, and the
new affections they give rise to , as man emerges
from chaos to order, from the gloom of ignorance
to the light of civilisation, morality, and science.
One common character runs through savagesof
every kind. The empire of the heart is divided
between two rival deities or rather demons
Selfishness and Terror. The chief ministers of
the first are lust, hatred, and revenge ; the chief
ministers of the second are cruelty, credulity,
and superstition . Look through the world , and
you will find this description apply to barbarians
of every age and country.
It is equally the history of Europeans and
Africans ; of the Pelasgi, who were the proge
nitors of the Greeks, and of the Celts and
Scythians, the successive progenitors of the
English . All the discoveries of modern circum
navigators confirm the assertion ; and though
the captivating names of Friendly and Society
Islands have been given to two distinct groups
in the vast bosom of the Pacific Ocean , and the
inhabitants in several of them have made some
progress in the first rudiments of civilisation and
T 4
280 ON THE LEADING PASSIONS .

government, there is not a people or a tribe to

be met with , who are yet in a savage state, that
are not still slaves to these debasing and tyran
nical passions. The gentleness of courtship , or
rather the first proof of affection, among the
savages of New South Wales, consists in watch
ing the beloved fair one of another tribe to her
retirement, and then knocking her down with
repeated blows of a club or wooden sword.
After which impressive and elegant embrace, the
matrimonial victim is dragged , streaming in her
blood, to the lover's party, and obliged to ac
knowledge herself his wife. Cannibalism , in
times of war, is still common to several of the
islands ; human immolation to most of them .
It was at the bloody shrine of revenge, that
Captain Cook fell a sacrifice in Owhyhee, one of
the best-informed and most disciplined of all the
islands; nor has any one, perhaps, who ever
read the interesting history of Prince Lee Boo,
forgotten the delight hemanifested at St.Helen 's,
on discovering a bed of groundsel, which he
immediately converted to an article of food .
All of them believe in magic — are the dupes of
priestcraft and witchcraft and in carving
images of their deities, seem to think they can
never represent them under figures sufficiently
terrific and disgusting.
The simple but violent passions, then , common
to mankind in savage life are selfishness, lust,
hatred , revenge, terror, cruelty, credulity, and
superstition. These are differently modified, as
 OF SAVAGE AND CIVILISED LIFE. 281
well as combined with other passions according
to the force of collateral circumstances , as the
dulness or vivacity of the intellectual faculties,
the warmth or frigidity of the climate , the
tameness or picturesque grandeur of the scenery ,
and the political constitution and habits of the
people . Let us see how far this remark is sup
ported by history.
From the cap or caf of the Caucasus descended
those streams of adventurers that under the
names of Getes, Goths, Scythians, and Scandi.
navians, over-run all the north of Europe, and
progressively spread themselves from the Caspian
Sea to the Thames. Born in the midst of snows,
brought up in the midst of perils, and stretching
their barren track from lake to lake, and from
mountain to mountain , through the wildest, the
boldest, the sublimest, and most fearful line of
country that indents the face of the old world ,
they caught the gloomy grandeur that surrounded
them ; exchanged the love of women for the love
of war ; and carried fierceness and terror into
the whole of their political institutions, their sul
len ritual, and their mythology. They neither
· gave nor would consent to receive' quarter ;
their highest honour being to fall in battle , and
their deepest disgrace to sink into the grave by
a natural death . They had their heaven, but it
was only for heroes ; and they denominated it
Valhalla , or the hall of slaughter. They had also
their hell, but it was only for those who died at
home, and who, as they taught, were imme
diately conveyed to it, and tormented for ever,
282 ON THE LEADING PASSIONS
for their cowardice, with hunger, thirst, and
misery of every kind. This audacious contempt of
death , and burning desire to enter the hall of their
ferocious gods, is correctly described by Lucan,
who calls it a happy error - felices errore suo .
We here meet with all the passions I have
enumerated as characteristic of savage life, but
modified and peculiarly directed by local cir
cumstances, which at the same time give birth
to other passions equally fierce and violent.
Nerved by nature with a firm , robust consti
tution, and nursed in the midst of cliffs and
cataracts, and torrents and tempests, they drank
in courage and independence with every breath
of air ; their only delight was the gloomy one of
hunting out difficulties and dangers; their only
lust that of battle and conquest ; and their only
fear that of being thought cowards on earth ,
and being shut out from the hall of slaughter in
heaven. To adopt once more the language of
Lucan, and follow up his correct description,
which, nevertheless, before a mixed audience I
must endeavour to give in our own tongue,
In error bless'd, beneath the polar star,
That worst of fears, the fear of death they dare ;
Gasping for dangers, prodigal of pain ,
Spendthrifts of life, thatmust return again .*

* Certe populi, quos despicit Arctus

Felices errore suo, quos ille timorum
Maximus haud urget lethimetus. Inde ruendi
In ferrum mens prona vivis, animæque capaces
Mortis ; et ignavum redituræ parcere vitæ .
Phars. Lib . i. 458.
 OF SAVAGE AND CIVILISED LIFE . 283

The natural passions of cruelty, hatred, and

revenge seem to have remained untouched , and
the whole character of the heart concurred in
giving a terrible enthusiasm to their superstition .
Patriotism they had none, for they had no
country ; and they only so far sacrificed their
personal liberty, and concentrated themselves
into tribes and clans, with leaders of limited
authority at their head, as they found best cal
culated to give success to their lawless enter
prises. And hence the origin of the feudal
system , and the first rude efforts towards a basis
of government and civilisation in northern
Europe.
Let us contrast this picture with one of a dif
ferent kind.
Seated in an early period of the world in the
vicinity of these ferocious mountaineers, but at
the southern foot of the Caucasus, instead of at
its summit, we behold another set of barbarians,
who progressively spread themselves into the
softer regions of the south and west, under the
names of Gomerians or Cymerians, and Celts.
Their patronymic appellation sufficiently proves
them to have been the sons ofGomer, and gives
them a near connexion with the tribes we have
just noticed. The country which formed their
cradle was the finest part of Asia Minor, a
country that has been regarded in all ages as
the garden of the world . Soft tepid airs; a rich
productive soil, that scarcely demanded cultiva
tion ; plainsand sloping hills extending in every
284 ON THE LEADING PASSIONS

direction, and covered with fattening verdure ;

fountains interspersed and meandering rivers ;
banks blossoming with the choicest flowers, and
suffused with the sweetest odours ; the refresh
ing foliage of deep umbrageouswoods ; and over
all the blue and cloudless canopy of the skies,
diffusing light and laughter and benevolence ,
seemed labouring with happy concert to sub
jugate the rugged feelings of the savage heart,
and attune it to harmony and peace. Nor was
the magic force exerted in vain . The agreeable
ideas hereby excited, prompted them , in their
migrations, to seek, as far as they were able, for
regions of a similar character ; and the growing
impulse of internal pleasure thus derived from
external beauty gave a new direction to their
mental powers . Selfish lust softened gradually
into social love ; the activity of a sportive fancy
subdued the gloomy dictates of cruelty and
revenge ; the Gorgon form of fear gave place to
the young radiance of hope ; and superstition
dropped her circlet of snakes, and half listened
to the soothing song of reason and of truth .
In proof of this, it is only necessary to men
tion that they spread themselves from the head
spring of the Danube or Ister, as it was for
merly called, to the mouth of the Tagus, and
peopled in their progress Phrygia, so celebrated
for its dithyrambic music and vigorous dance ;
the Troad , or country of Troy, ages ago
Married to immortal verse ;
Thrace , of scarcely less distinction than Troy ;
 OF SAVAGE AND CIVILISED LIFE. 285

Hungary, the greater part of Germany, Gaul,

Italy, Spain ,and the British islands; sometimes
confining themselves to small independent tribes,
and sometimes, as in the warmer regionsmore
especially , sinking conjointly into subjugation,
under one ambitious and powerful chieftain .
Different local circumstances diversified their
general character ; but for the most part we
find them equally courteous and courageous,
faithful to their engagements, hospitable to
strangers, full of patriotism , loyalty, and domes
tic virtue ; and let me add, it is to the quarter I
am now speaking of that the Greeks were in
debted not only for their Phrygian music, which
formed their most enthusiastic and maddening
movements, as I have just observed , but also for
their Lydian , which formed itsopposite, and was
equally adapted to quell the cares and fury of the
breast, andmelt it into feelings of tenderness and
affection. It is under this description Dryden
speaks of it in his Ode to Alexander's Feast
Softly sweet in Lydian measures
Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures.
And thus a greater than Dryden , in his well
known poem , entitled l’Allegro -
And ever against eating cares
Lap me in soft Lydian airs ;
In notes with many a winding bout
Oflinked sweetness long drawn out :
With wanton heed , and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes running,
Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony.
286 ON THE LEADING PASSIONS

Such, in most parts of the world , has been the

effect of climate and surrounding scenery. But
there is another cause, and a still more powerful
one, that ought not to be omitted in the consi
deration of national character : and that is the
government and habits of a people.
These may, in the first instance, be produced
by accident; they may be the result of the cause
already adverted to ; but, when once formed and
established , they lay a much firmer basis for
public feeling and conduct than can be derived
from any physical impulse whatever.
- Persia had at one time as much reason as
Macedonia to boast of her military hardihood
and heroism ; and, under the guidance of Cyrus,
is well known to have overrun all Egypt and
Asia Minor, taken Babylon, and destroyed the
Assyrian empire . But her government was at
that timemost excellent ; her code of laws full
of wisdom ; her administration of justice exem
plary ; and her morals the simplest and most
correct in the Pagan world . Her youth , from the
age of seven to that of seventeen , were allowed
no other food than bread and cresses, and no
other drink than water. They were all educated
at public schools, provided by the state, and
superintended by masters of the highest charac
ter for sobriety and science ; who were enjoined
by the constitution to use every means of inspir
ing them with a love of virtue for its own sake,
and an equal abhorrence of vice. With the ex
ception of the Macedonians, the Persians are the
only people who enacted a law against ingrati
 OF SAVAGE AND CIVILISED LIFE. 287

tude, punishing with a brand on the forehead

every one who was convicted of so heinous a
crime; a regulation which , I shrewdly suspect,
if carried into execution in the present day,
would woefully disfigure the faces of great mul
titudes of our contemporaries. The ear of the
prince, moreover, was open to the advice of
every one, but with this salutary limitation, to
prevent the royal presence from being pestered
with political busy -bodies: the adviser in pro
posing his opinion was placed upon an ingot of
gold ; if his counsel were found useful, the
ingot was his reward ; if trifling, or of no value,
his reward was a public whipping .
So long as this system of simplicity and poli
tical jurisprudence continued, the Persians were
the most powerful people in the world ; but
the temptations of a warm luxurious climate, and
the influx of enormous wealth , from the con
quest of surrounding countries, threw them gra
dually off their guard ; their discipline became
relaxed , their laws slighted, their manners
changed ; and the nation which was able to con
quer Phrygia, Lydia, Egypt, and the proud em
pire of Assyria , not two centuries afterwards,
fell prostrate before an army of little more than
thirty thousand Greeks, under the banners of
Alexander the Great.
If we turn our attention to the Greeks who
triumphed on this proud occasion, their whole
history will furnish us with a repetition of the
 288 ON THE LEADING PASSIONS

same lesson . The mildness of their climate ,

the luxuriance of their soil, the picturesque
beauty of their country, attuned all the rougher
passions to harmony, and gave birth to an equal
mixture of the gentler and the sublimer virtues.
Composed of a variety of small separate states,
united by,a confederate tie, they felt a generous
rivalry to surpass each other in whatever could
contribute to enlarge or adorn the human un
derstanding. And hence, while the well-balanced
liberty they possessed inspirited them to defend
it against every foreign aggression , in philoso
phy and ethics, in poetry and oratory, in music
and painting, in sculpture and architecture, they
becamemodels of excellence for all other coun
tries, and for all future ages. They too had
their superstitions and their mythology ; but the
genius that peryaded every thing else pervaded
these . A few grossnesses, indeed , which it is
wonderful they should ever have allowed, de
formed the whole machinery ; but every thing
besides, though wholly fictitious and ideal, was
uniformly elegant, and for themost part instruc
tive. Every grove, and stream , and mountain ,
was, in their opinion, instinct with some present
deity , and under his immediate protection ;
and while the sacred heights of Olympus, the
bright residence of their gods, was peopled , not
with savage heroes and bloody banquets, as
among the Scandinavians, but with the divinities
of wit, and wisdom , and beauty - with the Loves,
 CHARACTERS AND PASSIONS. 305

the Graces, and the laughing Hours, and the

sister train of Music and Poetry.
Such was Greece : but what is she now ? Her
climate and bewitching scenery are the same ;
but her spirit and constitution are no more .
What, then , is she now ? or rather, what was she
till of late ? for the spirit of past ages has again
in some measure revived in several parts of her.
A few of her islands are under British protec
tion ; and a few others are struggling to throw
off the yoke that has for ages equally subjugated
them in body and in mind. But with the ex
ception of these insular and more fortunate
spots - NANTES IN GURGITE VASTO - what is she
now ? The eye sickens at the sight, and the
tongue falters while it tells the change. A land
of slaves and of barbarous usurpers ; where
the scourge of the cold Ottoman flays at his
will the descendants of those who fell at Ther
mopylæ , and triumphed at the Granicus — whilst
the tame victims that still submit to it, prove
themselves well worthy of the fate that has be
fallen them : -

In all, save form alone, how changed ! - and who,

Thatmarks the fire still sparkling in each eye ,
Who but would deem their bosom burn 'd anew
With thy unquenched beam , lost Liberty !
And many dream withal the hour is nigh ,
That gives them back their fathers’ heritage ;
For foreign arms and aid they fondly sigh,
Nor solely dare encounter hostile rage,
Or tear their name defiled from Slavery's mournful page.
VOL . III.
306 ON THE LEADING

Hereditary bondsmen ! know ye not,

Who would be free, themselvesmust strike theblow ?
By their right arms the conquest must be wrought ?
Will Gaul or Muscovite redress ye ? No !
True, they may lay your proud despoilers low ,
But not for you will Freedom 's altars flame. -
Shades of the Helots ! triumph o'er your foe !
Greece ! change thy lords, thy state is still the same;
Thy glorious day is o'er, but notthy years of shame.
Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild ;
Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields ;
Thine olive ripe aswhen Minerva smiled ,
And still his honied wealth Hymettus yields ;
There the blithebee his fragrant fortress builds,
The free -born wanderer of thymountain air :
Apollo still thy long, long summer gilds ;
Still in his beam Mendeli's marbles glare ;
Art, Glory, Freedom , fails,but Nature still is fair.*

A thousand other examples of like effect, from

like causes, might easily be adduced. Insomuch,
that it has become a general maxim among po
litical writers, that nations, like individuals,
have a natural youth , perfection , and dissolution .
It is a maxim , however, that must be received
with some degree of caution. The experiment,
notwithstanding that the world has now conti.
nued for nearly six thousand years, has never
been tried in its hardier and colder regions : and
we have already seen , that in the warmer cli
mates, there is a cause operating towards the
production of national decay, peculiar to itself,

* Childe Harold 's Pilgrimage, cant. ii.

 CHARACTERS AND PASSIONS. 307
and distinct, therefore, from the law of general
necessity. Yet, even in the warmer regions of
the earth , the fact does not hold universally
for the Chinese have historic documents of the
continuance of their empire fornearly four thou
sand years : one of the chief of which is, the
famous record ofan eclipse of the sun , in the reign
of Ching-Kang, 2155 yearsbefore the commence
ment of the Christian era : while Persia , though
conquered by the Romans, and shorn of more
than half its extent in elder times, has still, un
der some form or another, descended to the
present day, through a period of nearly three
thousand years. And, wild and wandering as
is the life of the Arab tribes, they may at least
make a boast of having uniformly retained their
customs, their liberty, and their language, for a
longer period than any other people, and
amidst all the changes that have befallen the
most splendid empires around them ; and are at
this day, in habits, government, and national
tongue, nearly the same as they were in the time
of the patriarch Job ; and probably as they were
long before the earliest epoch to which the
Chinese can make any pretensions.
There can be no doubt, however, that the very
perfection of a people , in the arts of civilisation
and refinement, has a natural tendency to pro
duce the seeds of future decay and dissolution ;
and, although the Chinese and Arabians have not
hitherto given proofs of any such change, it is
U 2
308 ON THE LEADING

only, perhaps, because they have for ages con

tinued stationary, and have never reached the
absolute perfection we are speaking of. I shall
close the present lecture, therefore, with point
ing out a few of those passions and other affec
tions which immediately spring from what may
be called the manhood, or summit of civilisa
tion , are chiefly distinctive of it, and pave the
way for its downfall.
• In order, however, to give strength and bearing
to the picture, letus firstglanceat the passions and
emotions ofmankind in a simpler state ; in that
middle condition of moral cultivation usually to
be met with in the villages and smaller towns of
a highly- civilised people, where the moral af
fections have sweetened the heart, but refine
ment has not yet sweetened the manners. Let
us transport ourselves for a few minutes to
Wales, the Highlands of Scotland * , or the banks
of the Garonne. In any of these regions, we
shall be received upon a proper introduction ,
and often without any introduction whatever ,
with an honest though a homely welcome ; the
chief virtues of the heart we shall find to be
chastity, sincerity, frugality, and industry ; its
chief feelings, cheerfulness, content, and good
will : if they know little of the sublimer, they
know nothing of the turbulent passions : -
: * See, for a correct description of the amusements, super
stitions, and manners of the Scottish peasantry , Burns's
Halloween, and his Cottar's Saturday Night.
 CHARACTERS AND PASSIONS.

Far from the maddening crowd's ignoble strife,

Their sober wishes never learn to stray ;
Along the cool sequester'd vale of life
They keep the noiseless tenour of their way.

At the same time, we shall find an evident dis

tinction of national character ; the first of these
tribes evincing an enthusiastic fondness for the
shadowy traditions and the antiquated, perhaps
the fabulous heroes of their country, from some
of whom every one believes himself to be lineally
descended ; the second, an ardent attachment
to their respective lairds, and the hardy indivi
duals that compose their respective clans ; and
the third , an elastic and ebullient vivacity, that
seems to fit them for happiness in any country,
and almost under any circumstances.
If from these scenes of simple life and inge
nuous manners, we pass to the crowded capitals
of refinement and luxury, we shall see more,
perhaps, to admire, but certainly more to disre
lish and weep over ; a strange intermixture of
the noblest virtues and the foulest vices ; the
mind in some instances drawn forth to its utmost
stretch of elevation and genius, and in others
sunk into infamy and ruin ; a courtesy of atten
tion that enters into all our feelings, and anti
cipates all our wants ; delicacy of taste ; punc
tilious honour ; sprightly gallantry ; splendour
and magnificence ; wit, mirth, gaiety, and plea
sure of every kind . Of national character,
however, we find little or nothing : like the
pebbles in a river, all roughnesses are smoothed
U 8
310 ON THE LEADING

away by mutual friction into one common po

lish . It is easy, indeed, to perceive that every

comes fastidious, and is perpetually hunting for

something new ; gallantry degenerates into se
duction ; fine, trembling honour, into an irri
table thirst to avenge trifles ; the heart is full
of restlessness and fever. In the general pur
suit of happiness, contentment is altogether
unknown ; no one is satisfied with his actual
rank and condition , and is perpetually striving to
surpass or supplant his neighbour ; and striy
ing , too, by all the machinery he can bring into
play. Hence, in the more refined ranks, all is
flattery, servility, and corruption ; in the busy
walks of traffic and commerce, all is wild ven
ture, speculation, and hazard ; the bosom is
distracted with the civil warfare of avariçe, am ,
bition, pride, envy, and sullen rancour ; the
whole surface is at length hollow and showy,
and the face becomes no index to the feelings,
There is no necessity for dwelling on those open
and atrocious villains, that, like vermin on a pu
trid carcass, such a state of things must indis
pensably generate and fatten ; – the haggard
tribe of anxiety, vexation, and disappointment
the downfall of splendour – the mortification
of pride — the failure of friendship -- the sting
of ingratitude -- the violation of sacred trusts -
blasted expectations, and disconcerted projects
— the cup of joy dashed from the lips that are
sipping it — hope shipwrecked on the verge of
 CHARACTERS AND PASSIONS. 311

possession - the agony of the mighty adven

turer, who for months beforehand sees the
tempest of his ruin rolling towards him ; sees
it, but dares notmeet it ; sees it, but perhaps can
not avert it — harrowed through every nerve
by the gaunt spectres of approaching shame,
by the lamentations of his own family reduced
to beggary, and the cutting rebukes of other fa
milies whom a misplaced confidence has in
volved in one common destruction — the de
mon train of distraction , madness, suicide : -
these, and a thousand miseries such as these,
that naturally flow from , and are naturally de
pendent upon, a state of superabundant and dis
eased refinement, without taking into the ac.
count the flagrant and atrocious villanies
which fall within the cognizance of the criminal
judge, are sufficient to prove, that the nation
which has reached the utmost pitch of civil per-.
fection, is in danger of degeneracy and decay ;
and justify the doubt I ventured to suggest, at
the opening of the present lecture, as to which
of the two extremes of society is pregnant with
the greatest share of moral evils - that of gross
barbarism , or that of an exuberant and vitiated
polish .
 . : 312

LECTURE XI.
ON TEMPERAMENTS, OR CONSTITUTIONAL
PROPENSITIES.

THE social principle - that horror of solitude

and inextinguishable desire of consorting with
our own kind, which every man feels in his
bosom , and which impets him to prefer misery
with fellowship , to ease and indulgence without
it - laid the first foundation for cities and
states ; and the nature of the social compact,
peculiarity of climate, and community of habits
and manners, unite in producing that general
tissue of feelings and propensities, which con .
stitutes, and is denominated, national character ;
which gives vivacity to the French , a refined
taste to the Italians, phlegmatic industry to the
Dutch, a free and enterprising spirit to the
English , and a military genius to the Germans. :
But independently of these national tenden
cies, that run through the general mass of
a people, it is impossible for us to open our eyes
without perceiving some peculiar propensity , or
prominent moral feature, in every individual of
every nation whatever ; and which , if strictly
analysed , will be found as much to distinguislı
him from all other individuals as the features of
 ON TEMPERAMENTS . 313

his face. This is sometimes the effect of habit, or

of education, which is early and systematic habit,
and which every one knows is capable of chang
ing the original bent of the mind , and of intro
ducing a new direction ; but it is far more gene
rally an indigenous growth , implanted by the
hand ofnature herself; or, in other words, depend
ent on the original orgnization , admitting of
infinite varieties, and produced by the ever
shifting proportions which the mental faculties
and the corporeal organs bear to themselves, or
to each other, and which it is impossible in
every instance to catch hold of and classify. ;
The Greek physiologists, however, attempted
the outlines of a classification , for they began
by studying the individual varieties, which they
ascribed to the cause just adverted to, and
hence denominated them idiosyncrasies, or
peculiarities of constitution .
They beheld , as every one must behold in the
present day, for nature is ever the same, one
man so irascible, that you cannot accidentally
tread on his toe, or even touch his elbow , with .
out putting him into a rage ; another so full of
wit and humour, that he would rather lose his
friend than repress his joke ; a third, on the con
trary, so dull and heavy, that you might as well
attempt to move a mile-stone ; and possessing
withal, so little imagination, that the delirium of
a fever would never raise him to the regions of
a brilliant fancy. They beheld one man for
ever courting enterprise and danger ; another
 NTS
314 ON TEMPERAME ,

distinguished for comprehensive judgment and

sagacity of intellect: one peculiarly addicted to
wine ; a second to gallantry, and a third to both :
one generous to profligacy ; another frugal to
meanness ; and a few , amidst the diversified
crowd, with a mind so happily attempered and
balanced by nature, that education has little to
correct, and is almost limited to the act of ex
panding and strengthening the budding faculties
as they show themselves.
The physiologists of Greece , and especially the
medical physiologists, did not rest here. They at
tempted to cluster the different species of idiosyn
crasies, or particular constitutions that had any re
semblance to each other,and to arrange them into
genera, which were denominated crases ( xpáons ) or
temperaments. We have the express testimony
ofGalen * , that Hippocrates was the founder of
this system . He conceived the state or condition
of the animal frame to be chiefly influenced by
the nature and proportion of its radical fluids,
at least, far more so than by those of its solids. The
radicalfluids he supposed to be four,the element
ary materials of which were furnished by the
stomach , as the common receptacle of the food ;
but each of which is dependent upon a peculiar
organ for its specific production or secretion .
Thus the blood he asserted to be furnished by
the heart ; the phlegm , lymph , or finer watery
fluid, by the head ; the yellow bile by the gall
duct ; and the black bile by the spleen. The
* De Temperament. ii. p.60. § b .
 OR CONSTITUTIONAL PROPENSITIES.
OR CON ITIES 315 ,

perfection of health , or hygéia, as the Greeks

denominated it, he conceived to result from a
due proportion of these fluids to each other ;
and the different temperaments or predispo
sitions of the body, to peculiar constitutions or
idiosyncrasies, from a disturbance of the balance,
and a preponderating secretion or influence of
any one of them over the rest.
Hence Hippocrates established four genera,
of temperaments, which he denominated from
the respective Auids whose superabundance he
apprehended to be the cause of them , the BILI..
Qus or CHOLERIC , produced by a surplus of yel
low bile , and dependent on the action of the
gall-duct or liyer ; the ATRABILIARY or MELAN
CHOLIC , produced by a surplus of black bile,
and dependent upon the action of the spleen ;
the SANGUINEOUS, produced by a surplus ofblood ,
and dependent upon the action of the heart ;
and the PHLEGMATIC, produced by a surplus of
phlegm , lymph, or fine watery fluid , dependent
upon the aetion of the brain . .. : :
This arrangement of Hippocrates continued
in great favour with physiologists, and with very
little variation , till the beginning of the last cen
tury, at which time it was warmly supported in
all its bearings by the quaint but solid learning
of Sir John Floyer.* And even to the present
hour, notwithstanding all the changes that have
* See his Physician's Pulse -watch ; or an Essay to explain
the Old Art of Feeling the Pulse, and to improve it by the
Help of the Pulse-watch . 2 vols. 8vo. Lond. 1707.
316 ON TEMPERAMENTS,

taken place in the sciences of physiology, ana

tomy, and medicine, and the detection of some
erroneous reasonings and opinions in the writ
ings of Hippocrates upon this subject, intermixed
with much that is admirable and excellent, -
it has laid a foundation for all the systems of
temperaments, constitutions, or natural charac
ters, that have more lately been offered to the
world . Most of these, however, have been dis
tinguished by an introduction of five other
genera, denominated a WARM , a cold , a DRY,
a MOIST, and a NERVOUS or irritable tempera
ment : the first four of these five having been
added to the list by Boerhaave, but unnecessarily;
as they may readily be comprehended , as I shall
presently show you, under the four simple tem
peraments of Hippocrates ; while the fifth, in
the general opinion of modern physiologists, is
requisite to supply what must be admitted to be
a chasm in the Greek hypothesis.
I have dwelt the longer upon this subject,
bearing upon the popular phraseology of the
present day, in all nations ; and will give us a
clear insight into the meaning of various col
loquial terms and idioms, which we are in the
constant habit of employing , in many instances,
without any definite signification.
The two usual words to express the moral
disposition or propensity of a man, and especially
as connected with the passions, are TEMPER and
HUMOUR. Both are Latin terms: the first, in its
 OR CONSTITUTIONAL PROPENSITIES. 317

original sense, imports mingling, compounding,

modifying, or qualifying, and has an obvious
reference to the combination of the four radical
fluids just mentioned ; on the peculiar temper or
proportion of which to each other we have just
seen that the Greek physiologists supposed the
idiosyncrasy or peculiar constitution to depend :
and hence TEMPER is, in a certain sense, synony
mous with CONSTITUTION itself, though some
what more generally applied to the frame of
the mind than of the body.
HUMOUR, in like manner à Latin term ,
is derived from the Greek xupòs ( chumos),
and in its simple and radical sense imports
moisture, juice, or fluid of any kind : in which
sense we still employ the terms humid and
humidity , derived from the same source. In
physiology and popular language, HUMOUR is
synonymous with TEMPER ; and the explanation
now offered will sufficiently show us how , from
such a derivation , it comes to be employed as
significative of mental disposition . Every one
must see instantly , that, like the term temper, it
has a reference to the general mass of the four
radical fluids, which, upon the Greek hypothesis,
are essential to the life of man ; the peculiar
combination of which with each other produces
the peculiar HUMOUR or prevailing CURRENT of
every individual. It is curious, and in many
instances highly entertaining, to trace the trans
mutations of meaning that a word, from acci
dental circumstances, is thus frequently com
318 ON TEMPERAMENTS,

pelled to undergo, so as to express, in oné age,

a very different idea from what it had in a pre
ceding. Even in the present day, however, and
in common language, we still occasionally employ
the term HUMOUR , and its derivatives, in its
original sense ; as when we speak of the humour
of the blood, meaning thereby a peculiar acri
monious fluid ; and still more openly when we
speak of the aqueoushumour of the eye.
Humid and humidity continue steady' to the
radical idea, for they import fluidity , and nothing
else. Nay, so strongly have we imbibed the
diffusive spirit of the Greek doctrine upon the
subject before us, thatwe not unfrequently carry
forward the same idea ofAuiditywithoutourbeing
aware of it ; as when , for example, we speak of a
vein of humour, or a humorous vein , in which
case we evidently refer to a fluid circulating in
a canal. Thus Prior, in his well-known imita
tion of Adrian's lines to his soul: . . .
Thy humorous vein , thy pleasing folly,
Lies all neglected , all forgot ; . .
And pensive, wav'ring, melancholy,
Thou dread'st and hop'st thou know 'st not what .

We are not only told , however, in popular

language, that every man has his humour, or
vein of humour, but that one man is of a choleric
humour, or turn of mind , by which we mean,
that he is naturally irascible, or inclined to
anger ; that another man has a melancholic turn ,
by which every one understands that he is ná
 OR CONSTITUTIONAL PROPENSITIES. 319

turally gloomy and low -spirited ; that a third is

of a sanguine disposition, importing that he is
naturally prone to high hope and confidence ;
and that a fourth is of phlegmatic habit, signify
ing that he is naturally dull and sluggish.
Now , in thus expressing ourselves, we show
that we have imbibed , though often without
being aware of it, not merely the language, but
the first principles of the Hippocratic school,
and employ their own terms as illustrative of
their own doctrine. Choler (xoan ), for exam .
ple, is Greek for bile ; and the bilious tempera
ment of the Greeks was peculiarly characterised
by irascibility, or an habitual propensity to
anger. So melancholy (ushaymorice) is literal
Greek for black bile ; that which , as I have
already observed, they supposed to be produced

Latins called it, atrabilious or black bile tem

perament, they, in like manner, ascribed a pre
vailing disposition to gloom or depression of
spirits. Sanguine is a Latin term , importing
blood ; and to the sanguineous temperament, or
that which, on their hypothesis, indicates a brisk
and exuberant flow of blood, they attributed a
propensity to ardent expectation , mirth , gaiety.
Phlegmatic (préypatixos), again , is á Greek
term , denoting lymph or aqueous fluid ; and to
the temperament abounding with this cold and
spiritless humour, as they conceived it to be,
they referred habitual indolence or sloth .
320 ON TEMPERAMENTS,

We often hear of the term RULING PASSION :

this is rather of modern than of ancient origin .
It is frequently, however, employed without any
clear meaning, and confounded with temper,
humour, or idiosyncrasy. Now, the temper, or
idiosyncrasy, may be the result of a combination
of passions, in which case all of them cannot take
the rule ; and hence that only is, properly
speaking, the ruling passion , which takes the
lead of the rest, and gives to the particular tem
per or humour a particular variety. Pope has
not always paid sufficient attention to this dis
tinction. Roscommon has correctly maintained
it in thefollowing couplet :
Examine how your HUMOUR is inclined,
And which the RULING PASSION of your mind.

If this view of the subject be correct, itwill fol

low that crases or temperaments are the genera or
grand divisions under which themoral characters
or dispositions of mankind, possessing any consi
derable degree of resemblance to each other,may
be naturally arranged. Tempers, humours, or
idiosyncrasies, are the species which compose the
different genera and ruling passions, the varieties
or singularities of emotion , by which one indivi
dual belonging to the same species is distin
guished from another .
The species and varieties may be innumerable,
and would require a folio volume for their se
 OR CONSTITUTIONAL PROPENSITIES. 305
parate analysis and description , rather than a
single lecture. Let us, then , confine our atten
tion to the genera, or primary division of moral
and physical constitutions into temperaments,
and illustrate this part of the preceding classifica
tion by a few familiar examples.
All mental propensities or dispositions, then ,
may be arranged under five separate heads; each
of which constitutes a temperament, and is dis
tinguishable by a correspondent effect, produced
on the corporeal organs, and the external fea
tures and figure. So that the mind and body,
for the most part, maintain a mutual harmony,
and the powers of the one become, in a general
view , a tolerably fair index of those of the other.
To these heads, genera , or temperaments, I have
given the names of sanguineous, bilious or cho
leric, atrabilious or melancholic, phlegmatic , and
nervous. These names and characters, as I have
already observed , with the exception of the
last, are derived from the Greek physiologists ;
the principles of animal chemistry on which
they are founded , are, in many instances, errone.
ous : but the physiological facts which they are
designed to illustrate are, for the most part, in
controvertible, and it is not easy to change the
general arrangement for a better.
I. Let us commence with the SANGUINEOUS
TEMPERAMENT, or that conceived to depend
upon a powerful action or peculiar energy of the
system of blood vessels.
VOL. III.
306 . ON TEMPERAMENTS,

Suppose the heart and arteries, whose har

monious activity produces the circulation of the
blood, and throws it over every part of the sys
tem , to possess a predominant energy of action ,
what may we reasonably expect to be the conse
quence ? The pulse must be strong , frequent,
and regular ; the veins blue, full,and large ; the
complexion florid ; the countenance animated ;
the stature erect ; the figure agreeable, though
strongly marked ; the flesh firm , with a propor
tionate secretion of fat ; the hair of a yellow ,
auburn , or chestnut colour ; the nervous impres
sions acute ; the perception quick ; the memory
tenacious ; the imagination lively and luxuriant;
the disposition passionate, but easily appeased ;
amorous, and fond of good cheer.
The diseases of this temperament are few but
violent, and are chiefly seated in the circulating
system ; as hæmorrhages and inflammatory fe
vers. It shows itself with peculiar prominence
in the season of spring ; and especially in the
season of youth , which is the spring of life ,
The best external or corporeal marks of the
sanguineous temperament are, perhaps, to be
met with in the beautiful statues of Antinous
and the Apollo of Belvidere ; the best moral
character of it in the lives of Alcibiades
and Març Antony, as drawn by the masterly
hand of Plutarch ; and the most perfect type
of this construction which has been offered in
modern times, is to be found, in the judgment of
 OR CONSTITUTIONAL PROPENSITIES. 307
M . Richerand, from whom I have copied the
chief part of this description , in the person of
the celebrated duke de Richelieu .*
If men of this temperament devote themselves
to labour of any kind , that demands great mus
cular exertion, the muscles thus brought into
action , and easily supplied with nutrition from
the sanguineous system , will acquire considerable
increase of size, and produce a subdivision of
the sanguineous temperament, which is usually
known by the name of ATHLETIC or MUSCULAR.
In this case, the head is very small ; the neck very
strong , particularly behind ; the shoulders are
broad ; all the muscles are powerful and promi.
nent, surrounded with strongly-marked interstices
or cavities ; while the joints, and parts not
abounding in muscles, are extenuated, and the
direction of the tendons beneath them is ob
vious and striking. Perhaps the best model we
possess of this peculiar constitution is the Far
nesian Hercules, of which a good copy is to be
found in the hall of the Royal Academy at
Somerset-house , and must have been seen by
every one who frequents the annual exhibitions
of that establishment.
It is this temperament which is bestowed by
Homer upon Ajax, and enables him , after re re .

ceiving the shock of a mountain crag upon his

shield , hurled at him by Hector, to return a still
heavier and more effective blow .
* Nouveaux Elémens de Physiologie, & c. tom . ii. séct.
ccxxix . p . 445. 8vo. Paris, 1804 .
x 2
308 ON TEMPERAMENTS ,

Then Ajax seized the fragment of a rock,

Applied each nerve, and , swinging round on high ,
With force tempestuous, let the ruin fly.
The huge stone, thundering, through his buckler broke ;
His slacken 'd knees received the numbing stroke.
Great Hector falls extended on the field ,
His bulk supporting on the shatter'd shield .

These verses have been deservedly admired

for their strength , and they do ample justice to
the original. But the whole falls far short of the
fearful and majestic energy displayed by Spenser
in his description of the combat between the
Giant and the Red-cross Knight, and particularly
the overweening force with which the former
wielded his enormous club, and aimed to despatch
the champion by a single stroke, who had the
good fortune to elude it, and amply to repay
himself on his foe.

As when almightie Jove, in wrathfull mood ,

To wreake the guilt of mortall sins is bent,
Hurles forth his thundring dartwith deadly food,
Enrold in flames, and smouldring dreriment,
Through riven cloudes and molten firmament -
hi
The fierce three -forked engin t
ches ,makingway,
range stay 't of clay.
Both loftie towres and highestt trees hath rent,
And all that might his angry passage stay ;
And, shooting in the earth , castes up a mount of clay .

His boystrous club, so buried in the grownd,

He could not rearen up againe so light
But that the Knight him at advantage fownd ;
And, whiles he strove his combred clubbe to quighte
Out of the earth, with blade all burning bright
 OR CONSTITUTIONAL PROPENSITIES. 309
He smott off his left arme, which , like a block ,
Did fall to ground, depriv'd of nativemight;
Large streames of blood out of the truncked stock
Forth gushed, like fresh -water stream from riven rocke. *

In this subdivision of the temperament before

us, wemeet with no great degree of acuteness of
external impressions or mental perception . Mus.
cular strength , combined with mental tranquil
lity, is the prominent character : the individual,
therefore, is not easily roused ; butwhen he is so,
he surmounts every resistance. It would be
difficult to find in history a man of this peculiar
constitution,whose intellectual facultieshave been
sufficient to acquire him an immortal fame. To
become distinguished in the career of the sciences
and fine arts, an exquisite sensibility is indispen
sable ; a condition at utter variance with the full
perfection of muscular masses.
II. The second temperament or general cha
racter I have noticed, is the CHOLERIC OG BILIOUS.
The liver and biliary organs in general are here
as redundant in their power as the sanguineous
vessels, and for the most part at the expense of
the excernent, or cellular and lymphatic system .
The pulse , as in the last kind , is strong and
hard , but somewhat more frequent; the veins
cutaneous and projecting ; the sensibility acute
and easily excited , with a capacity of dwelling
for a long time on the same object. The skin is

. * Faerie Queene, b . i. cant. viii. 9 , 10 .

X 3
$ 10 : : ON TEMPERAMENTS,

brownish , with a tendency to yellowness ; the

hair black or dark -brown ; the body moderately
fleshy ; the muscles firm and well marked ; the

hibits abruptness, impetuosity , and violence of

passion ; hardihood in the conception of a pro
ject, steadiness and inflexibility in pursuing it,
and indefatigable perseverance in its execution .
It is to this temperament we are to refer themen
who, at differentperiods, have seized the govern
ment of the world . Hurried forward by courage,
audacity, and activity , they have all signalised
themselves by great virtues or by great crimes,
and have been the terror or the admiration of
the universe. Such were Alexander, Julius
Cæsar, Brutus, Attila, Mahomet, and Charle
magne, in earlier periods ; and such in later
times Richard III., Tamerlane, Cromwell, Na.
dir Shah , Charles XII. of Sweden , and the
tyrant of our own day, Napoleon Buonaparte .
This temperament, like the last, with which it
is so closely connected, is characterised by a
premature appearance of the moral faculties.
The men I have just named , when merely
emerging from youth , are well known to have
conceived and executed enterprises that would
have been worthy of their maturest judgment.
Where the lineaments of this character are
peculiarly strong, and the susceptibility , as fre
quently occurs, is very acute, the individuals are
highly irascible, and launch into a passion from
 OR CONSTITUTIONAL PROPENSITIES. 311

very trivial causes. * Homer has ascribed this

part of the general temperament to many of his
heroes, particularly to Achilles ; and every poli
tician knows that it was a prominent feature in
the constitution of Buonaparte , who seems, in
deed, in the occasionalinsults he offered to many
of the highest characters at his own court;
and in the general presence of his court, to
have copied from the Grecian chieftain , who
thus addressed Agamemnon , the head of the
Grecian princes, the žvaće övågão, presiding at a
general council, in reply to Agamemnon' s repri
mand :
O monster ! mix 'd of insolence and fear ,
Thou dog in forehead, but in heart à deer !
When wert thou known in ámbush'd fights to daré,
Or nobly face the horrid front of war ?
' Tis ours the chance of fighting fields to try ;
Thine to look on, and bid the valiant die.
So much 'tis easier through the camp to go,
And rob a subject, than despoil å foé,
Scourge of thy people , violent and base!
Sent, in Jove's anger, on a slavish race ;
Who, lost to sense of generous freedom past,
Are tamed to wrongs, or this had been thy last.
In this temperament we discover, as I have
already observed, an union of an active exuberant
bilious, with an active exuberant sanguineous
system . The temperament called bilious is,
therefore , properly speaking, a complex genus,
deriving its features from both systems, and from
both in a state of energetic operation .
* Richérand , ut suprà, sect. ccxxxi. p . 449.
X 4
912 ON TEMPERAMENTS,

III. If we putaway this predominant energy of

the sanguineous system ,or sink it below its level, if
we suppose the bilious system alone predominant,
and then add a deranged action of some abdo
minal organ, or of the nervous department - the
vital functions, from the change we have now
taken for granted in the sanguineous system ,
being carried on in a weak and irregular man
ner, we shall arrive at the ATRABILIOUS, BLACK
BILE, or MELANCHOLY TEMPERAMENT. The skin
will assume a deeper tinge ; the countenance ap
pear sallow and sad ; thebowels will be inactive,
all the excretions tardy, the pulse hard , and habi
tually contracted. The corporeal sadness exerts
va
an influence over the cast of ideas ; the ima.
gination becomes gloomy, the temper full of sus
picion . The species and varieties afforded by
this genus are almost innumerable, for the causes
are peculiarly diversified . Hereditary disease ,
long.continued sorrow , incessant study, habitual
gluttony, the abuse of pleasures of various kinds,
and a thousand other circumstances, may equally
become sources of this distressing condition ,
under some shape or other. And perhaps Le
Clerc is correct in regarding it, in his Natural
History of Man , as in every instance a morbid
affection , rather than a natural and primitive
constitution .
The character of Tiberius, of Louis XI., and
of Pygmalion, as drawn by the nice hand of

dations of this temperament in its moral bearings.

 OR CONSTITUTIONAL PROPENSITIES. 313
M . Richerand has also pointed out examples in
Torquato Tasso, Pascal, Gilbert, and Zimmer
mann ; but perhaps the most perfect picture that
has been furnished to the world is to be found in
the life of the celebrated Jean- Jacques Rousseau.
IV . Let us pass on to the fourth tempera
ment — the PHLEGMATIC , LYMPHATIC , PITUITOUS,
or WATERY, for the terms are all synonymous,
and by all these terms it has been denominated .
The proportion of fluids is here too considerable
for that of the solids, or, in other words, the
excernent system which secretes them from the
generalmass of the blood is in peculiar activity ;
and the result is, that the body obtains an in
creased bulk from the repletion of the cellular
texture. The fleshy parts are soft ; the skin
fair ; the hair flaxen or sandy ; the pulse weak
and slow ; the figure plump, but withoutexpres
sion ; all the vital actionsmore or less languid ;
the memory little tenacious, and the attention
wavering ; there is an insurmountable desire of
indolence, and aversion to both mental and cor
poreal exercise.
It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that,
among the illustrious lives of Plutarch , we do
not meet with an individual of this character.
They are for the most part a good-natured
group, not formed for the transaction of public
affairs, who have never disturbed the earth by
their negotiations or their conquests, and are
rather to be sought for in the bosom of private
life than at the helm of states. The emperor
314 ON TEMPERAMENTS; .

Theodosius may, perhaps, be offered as an

example in earlier times ; and in our own day
the deposed Charles IV . of Spain , who resigned
himself altogether into the hands of the infamous
Godoy, surnamed Prince of the Peace; Augustus
king of Saxony, who resigned himself equally
into the hands of Buonaparte ; and Ferdinand of
Sicily , who in lucky hour, but of too short
duration, at length surrendered the government
of his people to our own country .
V . The last temperament I have noticed is
the NERVOUS or IRRITABLE, as it has been some
times, but incorrectly denominated. In this
constitution the sentient system , or that suscep
tible to external impressions, is predominant over
all the rest.' Like themelancholic , it is seldom
natural or primitive, but morbid and secondary,
acquired by a sedentary life, reiterated pleasures,
romantic ideas excited by a long train of novel or
other fictitious and elevated histories; and pecu
liarly distinguished by promptitude but fickleness
of determination, vivacity of sensations, small,
soft, and wasted muscles, and generally , though
not always, å slender form . The diseases chiefly
incident to it are hysterical and other convulsive
affections.
Let us close with two brief remarks upon the
general survey before us. The first is, that these
temperaments or generic constitutions are per
petually running into each other ; and conse
quently, that not one of them , perhaps, is to be
found in a state of full perfection in any indivi
 OR CONSTITUTIONAL PROPENSITIES. 315
dual. Strictly speaking, Mr. Pitt and Mr. Fox
belonged equally in the main to the second of
them : there was the same ardour, genius, and
comprehensive judgment in both ; butthe former
had the bilious temperament, with a consider
able tendency to the sanguineous ; and hence,
with more irritability, had more self- confidence,
audacity , and sanguine expectation : the latter,
while possessing the same general or bilious
temperament, was at the same timemore strongly
inclined to the lymphatic ; and hence his in
creased corporeal bulk ; and, with less bold and
ardent expectation , he possessed one of the
sweetest and most benevolent dispositions to be
met with in the history of the world . The first
was formed to be revered , the second to be
beloved ; and both to be admired and immor
talised .
The closing remark I have to submit is, that
each of these temperaments, how widely soever
they may differ from each other, is capable of
being transmuted into any of the rest. Galen has
particularly dwelt upon this most important fact,
and has especially observed that a man of the
most elevated and sanguineous constitution may
be broken down into a melancholic habit by a
long series of anxiety and affliction ; while , on
the other hand, the most restless and audacious
of the bilious or choleric genus may be attuned
to the sleek quiet of the phlegmatic temper by
an uninterrupted succession of peaceful luxury
and indulgence. Ofwhat moment is this well
316 ON TEMPERAMENTS , & c.

established fact in the nice science of education !

The temperaments of boys may be born with
them ; but they are capable of alteration, nay, of
a total reversion , both in body and mind, each
of which may be made to play upon the other ;
the one by a discipline of gymnastic exercises,
and the other by a discipline of intellectual
studies. The Greeks were thoroughly aware of
this mutual dependence ; and hence, as we have
already seen, * made gymnastic games a regular
part of the tuition of the Academy , thus rearing
at one and the same time, and rearing, too, in
the self-same persons, a race of heroes and of
sages, and turning the wild and savage luxuri
ance of nature to the noblest harvests of wisdom
and virtue.

• Vol. II. Ser. II. Lect. XI.

 317

LECTURE XII.

ON PATHOGNOMY, OR THE EXPRESSION OF THE

PASSIONS.

In our last lecture, we examined how far the

state of the body has an influence upon that of
the mind : in the study we are now entering
upon we shall take the opposite side of the ques
tion , and examine how far the state of themind
has an influence upon that of the body.
This influence, if it exist, may be either in
stantaneous or permanent : it may be produced
by some sudden affection or emotion of themind,
exciting an abrupt change in the features, the
muscles, or other soft and flexible parts of the
body ; or it may result from the habitual cha
racter of themoral propensity, slowly and imper
ceptibly operating on parts that are less pliant,
and giving them a fixed and determinate cast.
The former constitutes the study of Pathognomy,
or of the signs, language, or expression of the
passions : the latter, the study of physiognomy,
or of the signs, language, or expression of the
genius or temper.
Let us investigate each of these in the order
in which I have now stated them ; and devote
our present attention to the former of the two.
318 ON PATHOGNOMY, OR

Suppose a man of a mild but courageous

disposition, reclining at ease , and alone, beneath
some overspreading forest tree, on a summer 's
evening, should be suddenly surprised by the
attack of a ruffian , who should attempt to rob or
murder him ; - whatwould be the change of feel
ings and of figure he would undergo ? The tran
quillity of his mind would be transmuted into hor
ror, rage, and probably revenge, or an attempt to
retaliate; while the negligent ease of his posture,
the relaxed muscles of his face,the naturalvermeil
of his cheeks,his half-opened lips, half-closed eye
lids, and easy breathing,would suddenly start into
tension , energy, suffusion : he would be instantly
on his feet, in an attitude of determined resist
ance ; still trembling with fear, hewould collectall
his soul into a strong and desperate effort to over
come the wretch : his muscles would swell with
violent rigidity ; his heart contract with unusual
force and frequency ; his lungs heave power
fully ; the whole visage become inflated, dark,
and livid ; the eye-balls roll and look wildly ;
the forehead be alternately knit, and worked
into furrows ; the nostrils would open their
channels to the utmost ; the lips grow full,
stretch to the corners of the mouth , and disclose
both rows of teeth , fixed and grinding upon each
other ; the hair stand on end, and the hands,
spasmodically clenched , or grasping and grap
pling with the assassin .
Now it has been made a question whether
these rapid and violentmovements are instinctive
 THE EXPRESSION OF THE PASSIONS. 319

signs of the passions prevailing in the mind,

or voluntary muscular exertions, called for by
the stress of the case , and constituting the means
of resistance. Which opinion soever be adopted ,
it must be allowed to run parallel with the whole
range of internal passions, and external expres
sions. And hence, the advocates for the latter
principle contend, that the various transitions
of feature, position , and attitude, which accom
pany the different emotions of the mind, and
indicate their nature , are, in every instance, the
effect of habit, or are suddenly called forth to
operate some beneficial purpose. It is from
experience alone, we are told , thatweare able to
distinguish the marks of the passions; that we
learn , while infants, to consider smiles as ex
pressions of kindness, because they are accom
panied by endearments and acts of beneficence ;
and frowns, on the contrary, as proofs of dis,
pleasure , because they are followed by punish
ment. So in brutes, it is added, the expression
of anger is nothing more than movements that
precede or prepare the animal for biting ; while
that of fondness is a mere fawning or licking of

the mere consequence of a voluntary exertion

to see his prey more clearly ; and his grin , or
snarl, the natural motion of uncasing his fangs,
before he uses them . *

* Essays on the Anatomy of Expression in Painting, by

Charles Bell, p. 84 . 4to. 1806 .
 320 ON PATHOGNOMY, OR

I cannot readily adopt this hypothesis, as ap

plied either to man or to quadrupeds. The
power of expression possessed by the latter is,
doubtless, far more limited than that possessed
by the former ; but brutes still have expression,
and that, too, in the face, as well as in the ge
neral movements of the body ; and expression ,
moreover, dependent upon the peculiar frame
or feeling of the sensory, and therefore as
strictly its genuine and specific symbols, as words
are the symbols of ideas. In man , indeed, the
changes of the countenance seem to proceed
upon a systematic provision for this purpose ; they
constitute a natural language, and this so per
fectly , that there is not an emotion in the mind
which is without its appropriate sign ; whilst we
meet with various muscles in the face, which
have no other known use than that of being
subservient to this important purpose : particu
larly those that knit the eyebrow into an ener
getic and irresistible meaning ; and those of the
angle of the mouth , employed in almost every
motion of this organ expressive of sentiment ;
but peculiarly and forcibly called into action
in that arching of the lip which is the natural
sign of contempt, hatred, or jealousy. ' . . '
Mr. Charles Bell, to whom we are indebted
for an elegant and admirable treatise on the
anatomy of expression in painting, supports this
last opinion ; but rejects the doctrine of instinc
tive expression in the face of quadrupeds; 'con
tending, that even in the passion of rage, by far
 THE EXPRESSION OF THE PASSIONS. 321

the most strongly marked on the countenance,

the changes which take place in the features are
nothing more than motions accessory to the
grand object of opposition , resistance, and de
fence.* The inflamed eye, however, and fiery
nostrils of the bull, can scarcely be ascribed to
this cause ; for they add nothing to the power
of striking : they may, indeed, be proofs or
effects of the general excitement ; but to say
this, is to say nothing more than that they are
proofs or effects of the passion they indicate ;
and consequently its natural language or ex
pression . They are never employed on any other
occasion . « In carnivorous animals, ” observes
Mr. Bell, « the eye-ball is terrible, and the
retraction of the flesh of the lips indicates the
most savage fury. But the first is merely the
excited attention of the animal, and the other a
preparatory exposure of the canine teeth .” Now
if the first be merely excited attention , we
must meet with it in every instance in which
the mere attention of carnivorous animals, and
nothing but the mere attention, is called forth .
But is the glaring and terrible eye-ball here
alluded to a mark of simple attention ? Has
any one ever seen it so in any animal, whether
carnivorous or graminivorous, quadruped , bi
ped , or footless ? Has he ever seen it exhibited
on such occasion, I will not say constantly and
invariably, as upon this opinion it ought to be,

. * Essays, & c. by Charles Bell, edit. 1. pp . 85, 86 .

VOL . III.
322 ON PATHOGNOMY, OR

but in a single case of simple attention ? And

in like manner, I may ask respecting the
tremendous retraction of the flesh of the lips,
and exposure of the teeth ,---not merely of the
canine teeth or tusks, as stated above, but of all
the teeth of both jaws, as far as such retraction
will allow - has any one ever witnessed this
movement in the action ofmere seizing or biting ,
as, for example, in the case of devouring food ?
Mr. Bell himself seems sufficiently to settle
this point, by telling us, in the beginning of the
passage I have just quoted , that “ the retraction
of the flesh of the lips indicates the most savage
fury." And I may add, it indicates nothing else ;
it is not wanted, and is never made use of, in
the muscular movement of mere biting, and con
sequently is an immediate symbol of the passion
called into exercise. It commences with the
commencement of this passion , and is limited to
its continuance and operation .
What, then , it may be asked, is the use of ex
ternal expression , in instances of this kind, if
it do not add to the power of defence or resist
ance ? The proper answer must be found in the
general object and intention of nature upon the
whole of the case before us.
Man , by his constitution, is designed for so
ciety and mental intercourse. But what is to
draw him to his fellows ? to strip him of timidity
and reserve, and fix him in communion and
confidence ? The language of expression the
natural characters of the countenance -- the
. . . web
 THE EXPRESSION OF THE PASSIONS. 323
softened cheek — the smiling lip - - the beam
ing eye -- the mild and open forehead - the
magic play of the features in full harmony with
each other ; — which tell him , and, where arti
fice does not mimic nature, tell him infallibly,
that the mind to which they belong is all sym
pathy, benevolence, and friendship , and will
assuredly return the confidence it meets with .
But we have sufficiently seen in the last two lec
tures, that the mind is not always thus consti.
tuted ; that at times it is the store-house of rage,
revenge, malevolence, suspicion, and jealousy ;
and that to confide in it would be misery and
ruin . How is a man to be on his guard on such
an occasion ? He again looks at the counte
nance, and, instead of being attracted, he is in
stantly repelled : the characters are now hideous; *
and the Almighty , as formerly upon Cain , has
set a mark upon the forehead, that it may be
known.
Such , then , is the real use of that instinctive
language of the features which is perpetually
interpreting the condition of the mind ; a lan
guage of the highest importance, and of univer
sal comprehension ; and which, if ever disguised
and fallacious, is almost infinitely less so than
that of the lips or language. Its characters are
most perfect in mankind ; but they are occasion
ally to be traced in quadrupeds : below which
class, however, the signs of the passions, whe
ther sought for in the face, or in any other or
gan , grow gradually more indistinct; or, per
324 ON PATHOGNOMY, OR

haps, from our knowing less of the manners and

SO
expression of the inferior classes, they appear so
to ourselves, though not so in reality to others
of the same kinds.

Nec ratione aliâ proles cognoscere matrem

Nec mater posset prolem ; quod posse videmus ;
Nec minus, atque homines, inter se nota cluere.*
Homenu
Hence alone
Knows the fondmother her appropriate young,
Th " appropriate young their mother, mid the brutes
As clear discern 'd as man's sublimer race.

In contemplating , then , the passions, or other

affections of the mind, as cognisable by external
characters, they easily resolve themselves into
two descriptions — the ATTRACTIVE and the RE
PULSIVE ; the signs of which are to be sought
for in man , and the nobler ranks of quadrupeds,
chiefly in the face, but considerably also in the
attitudes and motions of the body ; while, in
other animals, we are so little acquainted with
these signs, as to be incapable of offering any
very satisfactory or extensive opinion upon the
subject.
In the ATTRACTIVE
ATTRACTIVE AFFECTI
AFFECTIONS, the features,
.

limbs, and muscles are uniformly soft and pliant

- in the REPULSIVE, as uniformly tense, and for
the most part rigid . The characters of the lat
ter, therefore, are necessarily more marked and
imposing than those of the former, though both
* De Rer. Nat. ii. 349.
 THE EXPRESSION OF THE PASSIONS. 325

are equally true to their purpose. And in more

definitely answering the question , whether the
characters in either case be the effect of habit
or voluntary exertion to execute the feeling of
the mind at the moment, or whether they be the
mind 's natural and instinctive symbols ; it may be
still farther observed, that in all instances they
are the latter, and in a few instances both ; for it
by no means follows, that they are not instinctive
symbols, because they serye at the same time to
ward off our danger, or to inflict retaliation on
an assailant. In the attractive feelings or pas
sions, they are perhaps, for themost part, instinc
tive signs alone : for the natural language of dim
ples, smiles, laughter, a lively, sparkling eye,
or that softened outline, and uniform sweep of
the whole figure, which every one knows to be
indicative of tranquillity and repose, is so clear
to every one, that he who runneth may read it,
and be assured of finding a contented and happy
companion, if not a propitious season for a
suit the heart is set upon . And although in a
few of the repulsive passions, as rage, terror,
and revenge, I have already given examples of
theirbeing mixed modes, in the greater number
of even this last class they are probably as sim
ple instincts as in the whole of the former.
For what other use than that of mere instinc
tive indications can we possibly assign to tears,
sighs, frowns, erection of the hair of the head,
or the dead paleness, shivering, and horripila
tion , the creeping cold, that makes the multi
Y 3
326 ON PATHOGNOMY, OR

tude of the bones to tremble, under the influ

ence of severe terror or dismay ?
In all this, there is one fact peculiarly worthy
of attention ; and that is, the admirable simpli
city which runs through the whole ; so that the
same muscles are not unfrequently made use of
to produce different and even opposite effects :
and this, too, by variations, and shades of varia
tions, so slight, that it is difficult, and in some
cases almost impossible , to seize them with the
pencil. When Peter of Cortona was engaged
on a picture of the iron age, for the royal palace
of Pitti, Ferdinand II., who often visited him ,
and witnessed the progress of the piece, was par
ticularly struck with the exact representation of a
child in the act of crying. “ Has yourmajesty,"
said the painter, “ a mind to see how easy it is to
make this very child laugh ?” The king assent
ed ; and the artist, by merely depressing the
corner of the lips, and inner extremity of the
eye-brows, which before were elevated, made the
little urchin , which at first seemed breaking its
heart with weeping, seem equally in danger of
bursting its sides with immoderate laughter.
After which , with the same ease, he restored the
figure to its proper passion of sorrow .
The nerves that influence the expression take
their rise almost entirely from one common
quarter, the medulla oblongata , or that lower
portion of the brain from which the spinal mar
row immediately issues * ; and as all their chief
* See Vol. I. Ser. I. Lect. xv. p.410 .
 THE EXPRESSION OF THE PASSIONS. 327
ramifications associate in the act of respiration ,
we can readily see why the lungs, the heart, and
the chest, in general, should so strikingly par
ticipate in all the changes of expression, and
work up alternately sighs, crying, laughter,
convulsions, and suffocation.*
I have said, that under the repulsive passions
the muscles and features are for ever on the
stretch ; though the tension is often irregular,
and alternately softens and stiffens. This ge
neralremark will apply to grief, pain , and agony ;
rage, suspicion, and jealousy ; horror, despair,
* This subject has been of late perspicuously and
admirably pursued by Mr. Bell, in a series of communi
cations to the Philosophical Transactions, and especially
in the Volume for 1822, p . 284 , who closes his remarks
as follows: “ To those I address, it is unnecessary to go
further than to indicate that the nerves treated of in these
papers are THE INSTRUMENTS OF EXPRESSION , from the smile
upon the infant's cheek to the last agony of life . It is when
the strong man is subdued , by this mysterious influence of
soul and body, and when the passions may be truly said to
TEAR THE BREAST, that we have the most afflicting picture
of human frailty , and themost unequivocal proof that it is the
order of functions which we have been considering that is
then affected. In the first struggles of the infant to draw
breath , in the man recovering from a state of suffocation ,
and in the agony of passion , when the breast labours from
the influence at the heart, the same system of parts is af
fected – the same nerves, the samemuscles ; and the symp
toms or characters have a strict resemblance. These are
not the organs of breathing merely , but of natural and
articulate language also, and adapted to the expression of
sentiment, in the workings of the countenance and of the
breast ; that is, by signs as well as by words.”
Y 4
328 ON PATHOGNOMY, OR

and madness ; though, as I have formerly ob

served, this last affection cannot with strict pro
priety be introduced among the passions, being
a mental disease rather than a mental emotion .
Let me justify this remark by a few illus
n
trations. “ A man in great pain ," observes
d . yes

Mr. Burke, “ has his teeth set ; his eye-brows

are violently contracted ; his forehead is wrin
kled ; his eyes are dragged inwards, and rolled
with great vehemence ; his hair stands on end ;
his voice is forced out in short shrieks and
groans ; and the whole fabric totters.” *
In GRIEF, there is still more violence and
tension , though the tension is irregular and al
ternating . Where the grief is of long conti
nuance, and deeply rooted , it gives a pale and
melancholy cast to the countenance ; an air of
reserve to the manner ; and an emaciation to the
entire form ; as though the sad sufferer were
fondly nursing the viper passion that devours
his bosom . Such is the exquisite description
of Viola, as given of herself in the Twelfth
Night:

She never told her love,

But let concealment, like a worm i'th' bud,
Feed on her damask cheek . She pined in thought ;
And, with a green and yellow melancholy ,
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief.

* Sublime and Beautiful, part iv. sec . 3. Cause of Pain

and Fear.
 THE EXPRESSION OF THE PASSIONS. 329

At other times, the passion is characterised by a

mingled tumult of agitation, restlessness, and
bitter bewailing. Such is the general picture of
Constance, in King John ; who thus, among
other exclamations, weeps over the ill- fated
Prince Arthur :

Grief fills the room up ofmy absent child ;

Lies on his bed ; walks up and down with me ;
Puts on his pretty looks ; repeats his words ;
Remembers me of all his gracious parts ;
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form :
– Then have I reason to be fond of grief.

In RAGE, there is the same tension, but the

same irregular agitation of the muscles. “ The
features," as Mr. Bell justly observes, “ are un
steady ; the eye-balls are seen largely ; they
roll, and are inflated . The front is alternately
knit and raised in furrows, by the motion of the
eye-brows; the nostrils are inflated to the ut
most ; the lips are swelled, and, being drawn ,
open the corners of the mouth * ; the mus
cles are strongly marked. The whole visage is
sometimes pale , sometimes inflated , dark and
almost livid ; the words are delivered strongly
through the fixed teeth ; the hair is fixed on
end, like one distracted ; and every joint should
seem to curse and ban.” Perhaps the finest
picture of this mighty passion ever presented
to the world , is to be found in Tasso's descrip
* * Anatomy of Painting, p. 139.
330 . ON PATHOGNOMY, OR

tion of the combat between Tancred and Ar

gante : but it is too long for quotation, and
would lose half its spirit if given in any other
language than the original.
It is in the features of rage that the higher
kinds of quadrupedsmake the nearest approach
to this form of expression in man . The bull
terribly denotes it, by his inflamed eye, wide
and breathing nostrils, and the prone position of
his sturdy head, waiting the due moment to

quadrupeds, not perhaps excepting the lion , the

war-horse exhibits the loftiest and most impos
ing character. The noblest and truest descrip
tion of him that has ever been painted is in the
book of Job . Allow me to quote it somewhat

in our common version , which is nevertheless, in

themain , unexceptionable :
Hast Thou bestowed on the horse mettle ?
Hast thou clothed his neck with the thunder- flash ?
Hast thou given him to launch forth as an arrow ?
Terrible is the pomp of his nostrils : .
He paweth in the valley, and exulteth ;
Boldly he advanceth against the clashing host ;
He mocketh at fear, and trembleth not ;
Nor turneth he back from the sword .
Against him rattleth the quiver, . .
The glittering spear, and the shield :

And is impatient when the trumpet soundeth .

He exclaimeth among the trumpets “ aha !"
And scenteth the battle afar off,
The thunder of the chieftains, and the shouting.
 THE EXPRESSION OF THE PASSIONS. 331

still the muscles are constantly more or less on

the stretch ; “ the eye-lid is fully lifted , and the
eye-brows strongly knit, so that the eye-lid al
most entirely disappears, and the eye-ball glares
from under the bushy eye-brow . There is a
general tension on the muscles, which concen
trate round the mouth ; and the lips are drawn
so as to show the teeth , as in great pain or fury .
Much of the character of the passion, however,
consists in rapid vicissitudes from love to hate ;
now absent, moody, and distracted ; now court
ing love ; now ferocious and revengeful. It is
hence difficult to represent it in painting. In
poetry alone can it be truly represented in the
vivid colours of nature , and even of poets,
Vel

Shakspeare, perhaps, is the only one who has

shown himself quite equal to the task .” * It is
thus he describes the workings ofOthello 'sheart,
on his first crediting the slander of the seduction
of Desdemona by Cassio :

O that the slave had forty thousand lives !

One is too poor, too weak , for my revenge.
Now do I see, 'tis true : - look here, Iago, —
All my fond love - - thus do I blow to heaven . -
'Tis gone.
Arise , black Vengeance, from the hollow hell !
Yield up, O Love ! thy crown and hearted throne
To tyrannous Hate ! - swell, bosom , with thy fraught,
For 'tis of aspics' tongues.

* Bell, ut suprà, p. 137.

332 ON PATHOGNOMY, OR

The general expression and features of FEAR

Mr. Burke has compared to those of severe pain .
Mr. Charles Bell objects to this , but Mr. Burke
does not mean simple fear, but terror ; which,
as we observed in a former lecture, is FEAR
united to an active IMAGINATION ; and in this
no
sense of the passion , Homer has frequently em
ployed it : witness the emotion of Priam upon
the first tidings of the death of Hector * :

Terror and consternation at the sound

Thrill'd through all Priam 's soul : erect his hair ,
Bristled his limbs, and with amaze he stood,
Mute and all motionless.

The extreme of this kind of terror is DISTRAC

TION : the total wreck of hope, the terrible
assurance of utter and inextricable ruin . The ex
pression of distraction or despairmust vary with
the action of the distress. Sometimes it will as
sume a frantic and bewildered air, as ifmadness
were likely to afford the only relief from mental
agony. Sometimes there is at once a wildness in
the looks, and a total relaxation and inipotency
of the muscles, as if the wretch were falling into
insensibility ; a horrid gloom , and an immovable
eye, while yet he hears nothing, he sees nothing ,
and is unconscious of every thing around him .
Such is the description ofdespair, as given in the
well-known passage of Spenser :
* Il. lib . xxii. 405.
 THE EXPRESSION OF THE PASSIONS. 333

That cursed man , low sitting on the ground ,

Musing full sadly in his sullein mind :
His griesie lockes, long growen and unbound ,
Disordred hong about his shoulders round,
And hid his face, through which his hollow eyne
Lookt deadly dull,and stared as astound ;
His raw -bone cheekes, through penurie and pine,
Were shronke into his iawes, as he did never dine. *

The best picture of this passion is Hogarth 's,

whose scene is admirably chosen, and consists
of the gaming-house, with its horrible imple
ments and furniture, in which the maddening
sufferer had thrown his last stake, and met his
utter ruin .
Tension, then, permanent or alternating, is the
main character of the violent and repulsive pas
sions; butif the attack be abrupt and intolerably
vehement, the nervous system becomes instan
taneously exhausted, as by a stroke of lightning ;
and powerless. Milton has given us an exquisite
exemplification of this in the following picture of
Adam , immediately after the first deadly trans
gression :
On th ' other side Adam , soon as he heard
The fatal trespass done by Eve, amazed ,
Ran through his veins, and all his joints relax'd .
From his slack hand the garland wreath 'd for Eve
Down dropp’d , and all the faded roses shed .
Speechless he stood, and pale.
* Faerie Queene, b . i. cant. ix. xxxv.
334 ON PATHOGNOMY, OR

But let us turn to a pleasanter subject. I have

said , that in the expression of the attractive pas
sions all is flexible and pliant. Their characters
are necessarily less powerful, and many of them
HI

are common to the entire class.

In perfect tranquillity and content of mind ,
when all the passions are lulled into a calm , and
the gentle spirit of imagination alone is stirring
on the surface of the mental lake, there is, as
I have already observed , a softened outline, a
smooth and uniform sweep of the entire figure ;
every feature of the body uniting in the repose
of the soul. Such is often the picture ofhim who
loves Nature for her own sake, and listens with
soothingmeditation ,amidst the steeps, thewoods,
or the wilds, that stretch their romantic scenery
around him ; and calls for no companions, for he
feels no solitude.
To sit on rocks, to muse o 'er flood and fell,
Slowly to trace the forest's shady scene,
Where things that own not man's dominion dwell,
And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been ;
To climb the trackless mountain all unseen ,
With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; '
Alone o 'er steeps and foaming falls to lean ;
This is not solitude : 'tis but to hold
Converse with Nature's charms, and see her stores unrolld. *

But let this tranquillity be broken in upon by

any of the agreeable passions, and still something
of the same softness and pliancy of feature will
* Childe Harold 's Pilgrimage, canto ii.
 THE EXPRESSION OF THE PASSIONS. 335
remain ; and the changes will be neither nu
merous nor powerful. This remark may be
strikingly verified by turning to Le Brun ; and
still more so by turning to other French pathe
matists, who have still further subdivided the
RA
passions. In ADM
ADMIRATION and agreeable SUR
FRISE , there is a slight muscular agitation ;...
and a gentle advance to stretching or tenseness
in simple ATTENTION , VENERATION , and elevated
REVERY ; but there is no constraint. The whole
is calm , placid , and void of exertion . : RAPTURE
and LAUGHTER make a somewhat nearer approach
to the former qualities, and especially the low
broad grin of the Dutch painters ; but the mus
cles, though stretched, are still flexible and at
ease . In eager DESIRE we approximate more

passions : but eager desire' is a compound

emotion ; it is desire with uneasiness, and con
sequently borders upon pain , if it do not enter
its boundary.
Hence the attractive affections are far more
easy to be expressed by the painter than by the
poet, and fall immediately within the range of
classical sculpture, which limits itself to the calm
and the dignified, and has rarely been known to
wander into the regions of intensity , distortion,
or violence .
The poet, incapable of catching those transient
lights and shades, that unutterable play of fea
ture into feature, by which the passions of this
class are chiefly distinguished from each other,
336 " ON PATHOGNOMY, OR

is compelled to have recourse to collateral

imagery , complex personification , or allegorical
accompaniments. To this remark it will be
difficult to find an exception in any writer. Let
us take Collins as an example , who is one of the
best and boldest of our lyric bards. His descrip
tion of Hope, in his celebrated Ode to the Pas
sions, is exquisitely fine, but, after all, somewhat
indefinite ; the whole of its figure being that of a
beautiful nymph , with fair eyes, an enchanting
smile, and wavy golden hair, accompanied with
a lyre or some other instrument, for we are not
told what, which she strikes to a song of future
or prospective pleasure, amidst the echo of sur
rounding and responsive rocks, and woods, and
valleys.
But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure ?
Still it whisper'd promised pleasure,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail.
Still would her touch the strain prolong,
And from therocks, the woods, the vale,
She call’d on Echo still through all the song.
And where her sweetest theme she chose ,
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close,
And HOPE enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair.

The portrait is graceful, elegant, and ani

mated ; but I may venture to say, that the only
real expression of the character of Hope is de.
rived , not from the features of her person, but
from the subject of her song, the whisper of pro
mised pleasure, the hail of distant scenes. I say not
 THE EXPRESSION OF THE PASSIONS. 337
this, however, as a proof of the imperfection of
the artists, but of the art itself. .
Let us try another description from the same
captivating production . The mellow horn having
just been sounded and laid down by MELANCHOLY,
the poet proceeds as follows :

But O how alter'd was its sprightlier tone

When CHEERFULNESS, a nymph ofhealthiest hue,
Her bow across her shoulders slung,
Her buskins gemm ’d with morning dew ,
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, .
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known.
The oak -crown's sisters and their chaste-eyed queen,
Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen
Peeping from forth their alleys green ;
Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear,
And Sport leap 'd up, and seized his beechen spear.

The remark I have justmade will apply to the

whole of this admirable group, than which a
finer or more correct and accordant was never
offered to the world . The passion of CHEERFUL
NESS gives, indeed, a specific expression and
character to the countenance that sufficiently
identifies it to the beholder, and is sufficiently
capable of being seized and fixed by the painter ;
but it is not calculated for poetry, and the only
feature Mr. Collins has copied into his descrip
tion is that of a healthy hue. But he has ad
mirably atoned for this poverty of his art by the
picturesque scenery and associates with which he
has surrounded her, and in which the province of
poetry has an inexhaustible mine of wealth ; and
VOL. III.
338 ON PATHOGNOMY.

as much exceeds that of painting as painting

exceeds poetry in the delineation of specific
features and attitudes. Cheerfulness, though not
distinguishable by the features of her person, is
sufficiently made known to us by the company
she keeps, by her attire, her manner, and her
accoutrements.
One of the finest pictures and sweetest group
ings of this allegorical kind to be met with in our
own language, is contained in the following verses
of Dr. Darwin ' s Ode to May in his Botanic Gar
den . They are worthy of Anacreon or Pindar.
Born in yon blaze of orient sky, .
Sweet May, thy radiant form unfold ;
Unclose thy blue, voluptuous eye,
And wave thy shadowy locks of gold .
For thee the fragrant zephyrs blow ;
For thee descends the sunny shower;
The rills in softer murmurs flow ,
And brighter blossoms gem the bower,
Light Graces, dress'd in flowery wreaths,
And tip -toe joys their hands combine ;
While Love the fond contagion breathes,
And, laughing, dances round thy shrine.

The subject is a pleasing one ; but it swells

before me to infinity, and I must drop it. In
the lecture for next week, we shall enter upon
the doctrine of physiognomy, or the permanent
influence of the mind upon the exterior of the
body.
 339

LECTURE XIII.

ON PHYSIOGNOMY AND CRANIOGNOMY, OR THE

EXPRESSION OF THE TEMPER AND TALENTS.

The ingenuity of man is never satisfied with

research . In tracing out the disposition of the
mind by the variable features of the face, it has
been discovered that this last, though a general
criterion , is not always an infallible sign. It
does not in every instance, it is said , disclose
even the present and acting emotion ; for, in
some persons, the symbols are naturally slight
and evanescent ; while in others, from a long
and skilful course of hypocrisy and dissimula
tion , they are repressed , or even fraudulently
exchanged , for symbols representative of affec
tions which have no real existence. But still
less do they manifest the fixed and permanent
propensity of the mind, which is ever pursuing
its specific drift, whatever be the transition of
the passions or of the features from one character
to another. And it has hence been inquired
whether there may not be some soberer and less
variable index by which the natural bent and
tendency of the mind may be detected ; a
something, that no art can imitate, no dissimu
lation conceal, enwoven in the toughest and
z 2
340 ON PHYSIOGNOMY

hardest, as well as in the softer and more flexible

parts of the body - in the very tissue and figure
of the bones ; and consequently which

Grows with our growth , and strengthens with our strength . '

From such inquiries has arisen the study, for

it can scarcely be called the science , of PHYSIOG
NOMY, - Temper indication , or Temper-dialling,
for such is the meaning of physiognomy; when
strictly translated . It is a figurative term , which
supposes the body to be a dial-plate on which
the habitual turn or bearing of the mind is
shadowed by means of the index or gnomon of
some fixed and prominent external:distinction ,
which retains its power and purpose amidst all
the fleeting changes of the passions, and the
mask ofmade-up smiles and serenity.
This study is of early date, and in its descent
to our own day has met with a perpetual alter
nation of evil report and good report, in propor
tion as it has acquired the favouritism or
encountered the rejection of public opinion .
Aristotle appears to have been the first philo
sopher who attempted to reduce it to any thing
like a scientific pursuit, and to fix it upon any
thing like permanent and undeniable principles.
His definition of it is excellent : “ It is the
science," says he, “ by which the dispositions of
mankind are discoverable by the features of the
body, and especially by those of the counte
nance.” And in the developement of this pursuit
19
 AND CRANIOGNOMY . 3+1

he advanced it as a leading doctrine, that a

peculiar form of body is invariably accompanied
by a peculiar disposition of mind ; that a human
intellect is never found in the corporeal form of
a beast ; and that the mind and body exercise a
reciprocal influence over each other : referring
us for examples of the former to delirium and
intoxication, in which the mental follows upon
the corporeal derangement ; and, for examples
of the latter, to the passions of fear and joy, in
which the body inversely displays the affections
of the mind .
As the result of this principle and illustration ,
he argues, and no modern writer upon the
subject has ever argued more clearly, that
whenever among mankind a certain bodily cha
racter appears, which by prior experience and
observation has been found uniformly accom
panied by a certain mental disposition , we have
a right to infer that it is necessarily connected
with it ; and we may fairly and legitimately
ascribe it to the individual that exhibits such
character. And, pursuing this line of appli
cation, he tells us further, that our observations
may be drawn from other animals as well as
from men ; for, as a lion possesses one bodily
form and mental character, and a hare another,
the corporeal characteristics of the lion, such as
strong hair, deep voice, large extremities, when
discernible in a human being, cannot fail to raise
in the mind an idea of the strength and courage
of that noble animal ; while the slender limbs,
. z 3
342 ON PHYSIOGNOMY ,

soft down, and other features of the hare, when

ever visible or approximated among mankind ,
betray the mental character of that pusillanimous
quadruped.
It is impossible to refuse our assent to senti
ments so just and obvious ; and to this extent
almost every one is a physiognomist by nature ;
for no man can walk the streets without notic
ing, in the first place, a marked and striking dif
ference between one face and another face, one
form and another form ; and, in the second
place, without ascribing , in consequence of such
difference, the possession of vigour to one person
that passes by, wisdom to a second, magnanimity
to a third , folly to a fourth , debility to a fifth ,
and meanness to a sixth .
Physiognomy, therefore, as to its general prin
ciples, has perhaps never been altogether neg
lected ; it seems in almost every age to have
influenced men 's opinion and conduct in first
associating with strangers ; and has not unfre
quently excited a favourable or an unfavourable
prepossession before a word has been spoken
or an action performed. As a science, though
an imperfect one, it was pursued, upon the
general doctrines of Aristotle, among theGreeks
and Romans, till the downfall of all the sciences
upon the irruption of the northern barbarians
into Europe, towards the close of the fifth cen
tury ; and was for a long time so systematically
cultivated at Rome, that Cicero was in the habit
of publicly availing himself of its force when
 AND CRANIOGNOMY. 343

ever, by employing it so as to excite contempt

or hatred, it could be turned to the advantage
of his client; of which we have striking examples
in his orations against Piso , and in favour of
Roscius ; while we learn from Suetonius that the
emperor Titus engaged a professed physiogno
mist, of the name of Narcissus, to examine the
features of Britannicus as to his character and
chance of success in his claims upon the empire
against himself ; who, it appears, gave an opinion
in favour of Titus, and declared, and, according
to the event, declared truly, that Britannicus
would never live to assume the imperial purple.
In this curious fact of history we find physiog
nomy united at an early period of the Roman
empire with magic or judicial astrology ; and we
also find that upon its revival, on the general
resurrection of science about the middle of the
fifteenth century , one of its first and most un
fortunate occurrences was a connexion of the
same kind ; from which it only separated to
form other and successive alliances with meta
physical theology, alchemy, the doctrine of signa.
tures and sympathies, and the theosophy of the
Mystics and Rosicrucians. So that it again fell
into contempt with the most liberal and en
lightened part of mankind ; who, however, did
not give themselves the trouble to sift the wheat
from the chaff. And though occasionally started
afresh in literary journals, and other publications
of considerable merit and authority, as, for ex
ample, by Dr. Gwyther and Dr. Parsons in our
z 4
344 ON PHYSIOGNOMY

own Philosophical Transactions ; by Pernetti.

and Le Cat, in the Transactions of the Berlin ,
Academy ; and in the separate writings of
Lancisi, Haller, and Buffon ; it was not till the
appearance of the elegant and popular work of
M . Lavater, the well-known dean of Zurich ,
that physiognomy was again able to establish
itself as a scientific pursuit in the good opinion
of mankind.
The two grand objects of M . Lavater were to
clear physiognomy of its mystical and other ad
ventitious connexions, and to advance it to the
rank of an exact and demonstrable science.
The first of these was as judicious as the second
was absurd : for he himself was at the time in
possession of nothing more than a certain num .
ber of detached facts or fragments , which he did
not venture to communicate to the world in any
higher form than that of essays. His work is
chiefly distinguished by a spirit of analysis, and
at times of anatomy, to which no other work on
the subject had hitherto pretended . Instead of
generalising the human form , and taking the
features by the group , as was the case with
Aristotle, and is the case with mankind at large ,
he aimed at separating the features from each
other, and endeavoured to assign to each its
peculiar bearing . And, fully believing that the
general character of the mental disposition runs
with a uniform and uninterrupted harmony
through every feature and every organ, he fre
quently trusted to a single feature or a single
 AND CRANIOGNOMY. 345
organ for its developement. In doing which he
lly selected such as were least flexible, and
by the mass of mankind least suspected ; as the
form of the bones, particularly those of the head
or face ; the shape of the ears, hands, feet, or
even of the nails ; and he hereby endeavoured to
baffle all dissimulation, and to avoid confound
ing the permanent temper with those occasional
flights of passion by which the flexible features
are disturbed and varied.
Wehave not time to follow up M . Lavater's
hypothesis into these points of detail, nor would
it be altogether worth our while if we had. The
author was a learned and most excellent man ,
but at the same time a man of a warm and
enthusiastic imagination ; and , notwithstanding
that his remarks are in many respects precise,
and his distinctions acute, and afford evident
proof of their being the result of actual observa
tion : and notwithstanding, moreover, that they
are richly illustrated, after the laudable example
of Baptista Porta , by expressive and elegant en
gravings, - the declamatory tenour of his style,
the singularity and extravagance of many of his
opinions, his peremptory and decisive tone upon
the most vague and disputable topics, his puffing
up trifles into matters of magnitude, and the
absurd extreme to which he pushed his hypo
thesis, so as to make it embrace and exemplify
the face and features of all nature as well as
those of man and the higher ranks of quadru
peds ; these and various other sproutings of the
 346 ON PHYSIOGNOMY

warm and luxuriant fancy I have just referred

to, prevented his work from obtaining more
than a transient popularity ; and it sunk beneath
the attacks of M . Formey and other Continental
writers,who laboured, and someof them perhaps
disingenuously , to point out its defects and ex
travagancies.
Perhaps one of themost whimsical of M . La.
vater's opinions is, that no person can make a
good physiognomist unless he is a well-propor
tioned and handsome man ; a position which
seems to be altogether at variance with his own
progress in the study, for the dean of Zurich
had few pretensions to such a figure. Another
singularity of opinion was that of his extend.
ing his physiognomic characters to the peculiar
ity of the hand-writing ; and in this instance
reviving the reveries of many of the ancient
mystics, who pretended to confide in the same
mark ; whilst, by interweaving into the body of
this science a belief in apparitions, and this, too,
upon very peculiar and fanciful principles, he
has indirectly connected it with the dark and
exploded study of divination, from which it was
one of his first and most prominent objects to
separate it. .
I will only farther observe, that in the wide
extent to which he carried this favourite and
fascinating science of his heart, he describes the
whole material world as subject to its dominion ;
amuses us with a developement of the propensi
ties, partialities, and ruling passions, not only of
 AND CRANIOGNOMY. 347

men and quadrupeds, but of birds, fishes, rep

tiles, and insects, from the unequivocal language
of their external expression ; and makes the
reputable class of tradesmen , probably without
their knowledge, the deepest physiognomists in
the world ; for the trader, says he, when in the
act of dealing, not only at once decides that his
customer has an honest look, a pleasing or forbid
ding countenance , and trusts or forbears to trust
him accordingly ; but determines by its colour,
its fineness, its exterior, the physiognomy of every
article of traffic. How far the former part of
this last remark may apply to M . Lavater' s own
countrymen , the honest and enlightened traders
of Zurich , I will not pretend to say ; but it is
highly probable that there are some before me
who have not always felt themselves able to
read the characters of the countenance quite so
well as is here supposed of them , and to whom
a few additional lessons from the Zurich count
ing-house , or the Zurich professor, might have
been every now and then of no small service in
the transactions of buying and selling ; and have
saved them , in various instances, from bad debts
and impositions.
Having pointed out these defects, it becomes
ine to observe, that, with all its blemishes, M .
Lavater’s Essays form the best and fullest book
on the subject we at present possess. To say
nothing of its language, which, though far too
florid, is animated, and often elegant, it is a
rich repository of isolated facts , shrewd re
348 ON PHYSIOGNOMY

marks, and ingenious suggestions ; and with

less fancy, and more judgment, would have
been , and must have been , the favourite text
book of every physiologist in this branch of na
tural philosophy. Nor, even as it is, can it ever
be neglected by any one who is desirous of
establishing physiognomy upon a permanent and
sober basis ; and of analysing the causes, and
determining the real principles, upon which
every one pretends to judge, whether rightly or
wrongly, of the internal qualities of the mind ,
by the external features of the body ; and con
sequently, as in the case of astronomy, gives
proof that the study is founded in nature, al
though its specific laws have not had the good
fortune, like those of gravitation , to be systema
tically sought out and exemplified . .
It is from this last circumstance, in con
nexion with M . Lavater's desultory and erratic
mode of handling his subject, that other philo
sophers have been induced to abandon altoge
ther the common ground of the general form
and features, upon which mankind in all ages,
whether learned or unlearned , have hitherto
reasoned , and to inquire whether there may
not be some less sensible and obvious, but at the
same time more fixed and scientific , more exact
and immediate index in some part of the human
figure, which may infallibly direct us to the same
ends. No minister has hence devised more
schemes for taxation, no insurance-broker more
modifications for a lottery, than this general
 AND CRANIOGNOMY, 349

research has given rise to this philosophical

rage
T ' expatiate free o 'er all this scene ofman ,
This mighty maze, but not without a plan ;
This wild where weeds and flowers promiscuous shoot;
This garden , tempting with forbidden fruit.

Ofall these attempts, however , there is but one

that is in any degree worthy of notice, or that
has acquired any considerable degree even of
transitory popularity ; and this is the hypo
thesis of Dr. Gall of Jena, who has been greatly
indebted to his friend Dr. Spurzheim for a po
pular diffusion of his doctrine over most parts
of Europe. This learned philosopher, being
determined to deviate as far as possible from the
beaten path , left the face or front of the head
to the rest of the world , and took the crown and
back part for his own use . He conceived , first,
that as all the faculties of the mind are limited
to the common sensory or organ of the brain ,
nature, like a skilful general, instead of con
founding every part with every part, and every
faculty with every faculty, has marshalled this
important organ into a definite number of divi
sions, and has given to every faculty the com .
mand of a separate post. He conceived , se
condly , as the generalmass of the brain lies im .
mediately under the cranium or scull-bone, and
is impacted into its cavity with the utmost ex
actness, that if any one or more of the aforesaid
faculties, or, which is the same thing, any one or
 350 ON PHYSIOGNOMY

more of the aforesaid divisions of the brain

allotted to their control, should be peculiarly for
ward and active, such divisionsmust necessarily
grow more abundant, and give some external
token of such abundance by a constant pressure
against those particular portions of the cranium
under which they are immediately seated, and
which , by uninterrupted perseverance, and espe
cially in infancy and early life, when the bones
of the cranium yield or are absorbed easily,
they must elevate and render more prominent
than any other part. * And, thirdly , he con
ceived, that every man having some faculty or
other more marked or active than the rest, or,
in his own phraseology, more sensibly manifest
ed, from which, indeed, his peculiar disposition
or propensity takes its cast, must necessarily
also have some peculiar prominence, some cha
racteristic bump or embossment, by which his
head is distinguishable from all others, or at least
from all others of a different temper, or attract
ed by different objects of pursuit ; and that
nothing more is necessary than to determine the
respective regions of the different faculties which
belong to the brain , in order to determine at

. . It seemsto me, that at least a great part of every organ

lies at the surface ; and that if the part of any organ be well
developed, the whole participates of this developement.” –
Spurzheim , Physiognom . System , p. 264. In p. 240., he
admits, however , that “ the organs are not confined to the
surface."
 AND CRANIOGNOMY. 351

the same time, from the external bump or pro

minence, the internal propensity or character.
· These premises being in his own mind satis
factorily established , Dr. Gall next set to work
with a view of deciding the relative parts of the
brain possessed by the different faculties or
their respective sentient organs. And having
settled this important point to his own thorough
conviction , he immediately made a map of the
outside of the head, divided it into correspond
ing regions, and was able , in his own opinion , to
indicate to a demonstration the characteristic
temper or tendency of every man presented to
him by a mere glance of the eye, or a mere touch
of the finger. For, in the language of Dr.
Spurzheim , “ in order to distinguish the deve
lopement of the organs, it is not alwaysnecessary
· to touch the head ; in many cases the eye is
sufficient." *
. . Let me not, however, do injustice to the
talents of the inventor of this hypothesis. For
he is not only possessed of a lively ingenuity and
fancy, as his speculation, thus far unfolded,
must suggest to every one, but he is also a man
of learning , and of patient and indefatigable
research . And such is the plausibility of his
scheme, that he has contrived to enlist under
his banners not a few philosophers and physio
logists of considerable eminence and merit,
among whom I may especially mention Dr.
Bojames, who was one of the first to publish an
* Physiog. Syst. p. 261.
 352 ON PHYSIOGNOMY

account of this singular line of study to the

world , and, as already observed, Dr. Spurzheim ,
who is at this moment lecturing upon the sub
ject in this metropolis. *
The allotments of the different parts of the
brain, and the consequent laying down of the
outside of the cranium into a superficialmap of
mental qualities or sensations, was a work of
great patience and investigation . To accom
plish it, hundreds, perhaps thousands of human
SI
sculls, ofknown characters and propensities, were
examined, and their peculiar impressions, whe

* This lecture was delivered at the time of Dr. Spurzheim 's

first visit to England, for the purpose of illustrating his hy
pothesis, which has certainly possessed every advantage of
which it is susceptible from his exertions and talents. Yet,
it is well known, that scarcely an individual among the more
distinguished anatomists or physiologists of our own country
have been led to adopt his views. To the discrepancy of
Sir Everard Home's conceptions the author will have oc - '
casion to advert in a subsequent note. The following is the
opinion of Mr. Charles Bell in his very excellent paper on
the nerves of the orbit of the eye, as contained in the Philo - .
sophical Transactions for 1823, p. 306 . “ But the most
extravagant departure from all the legitimatemodes of rea
soning, though still under the colour ofanatomical investiga
tion, is the system of Dr. Gall. It is sufficient to say, that,
without comprehending the grand divisions of the nervous
system ; without a notion of the distinct properties of the in
dividual nerves ; or, without having made any distinction of
the columns of the spinal marrow ; without even having
ascertained the difference of cerebrum and cerebellum , Gall
proceeded to describe the brain as composed ofmany par
ticular and independent organs, and to assign to each the
residence of some special faculty.” .
 AND CRANIOGNOMY. 353

ther prominences or indentations, were noticed

and arranged. These were afterwards com
pared with the respective tempers and inclinations
of the particular subjects while alive ; and the
whole tried by the craniognomy, as it was called,
of other animals celebrated, in common lan
guage, for the acuteness of their respective in .
stincts ; but, in the language of Dr.Gall, for the
acuteness of their predominant organs of sensa
tion ; in whose sculls correspondent symbols
were observed, or supposed to be observed. '
The whole was hence reduced to one regular
system : the brain was found to consist of thirty
three separate parts or chambers, and conse
quently the superincumbent cranium was di.
vided into as many sections, from the lowest
· part of the back of the head , over the crown, to
the orbits of the eyes. It is not my intention to
dwell upon any of these chambers or superficial
sections. To enumerate them , with a few ex
planatory hints, is all we can find space for ; and
even this, I am afraid , cannot be done without
an occasional verification of the poet's remark,
that there may be situations in which , although

To laugh is want of goodliness and grace,

Yet to be grave exceeds all power of face.
The following is the classification of the differ
ent mental powers of the brain , and the order in
which they lie, according to the table of Dr.
Bojames, one of Dr. Gall' s earliest and most
assiduous pupils, commencing, as I have already
VOL. III. AA
554 ON PHYSIOGNOMY
observed, at the lowest part of the back of the
head. I. Organ of tenacity of life . II. Of
self-preservation . III. Selection of food. IV .
Organ of the external senses. V . Instinctive
sexual union . VI. Organ of the mutual love
of parents and their offspring. VII. Organ of
friendship . VIII. Organ of courage. IX . Or
gan ofmurder or assassination . X . Of cunning.
XI. Circumspection. XII. Vanity , conceit, or
self-love. XIII. Love of glory. XIV . Love of
truth . XV. General memory, otherwise called
sense of places and things. XVI. Painting ,
or sense of colours . XVII. Sense of numbers.
XVIII. Musical sense . XIX . Sense for me
chanics. XX . Verbal memory . XXI. Sense
for · languages. XXII. Memory of persons.
XXIII. Liberality . XXIV . Talent for satire.
XXV . Talent for comparing things. ' XXVI.
Metaphysical talent. XXVII. Talent for ob
servation . XXVIII. Goodness. XXIX . Thea
trical talent. XXX. Theosophy. XXXI. Per
severance. The remaining two to complete the
thirty -three being, at the time Dr. Bojames
wrote, unappropriated ; a sort of terra incognita,
which the master of the system had not yet
sufficiently explored , but one of which he sub
sequently discovered to be, the natural organ for
theft or stealing. * A few alterations have since
been made in the general arrangement, both by
Dr. Gall himself and by several of his pupils,
* The Physiognomonical System of Drs.Gall and Spurz
heim , & c. p . 280. 8vo. Lond . 1815.
 AND CRANIOGNOMY. 355

especially by Dr. Spurzheim , but of no essential

moment in a cursory survey.*
It is not a little singular that men should be
supposed to be provided by nature with express
"organs for the cultivation of murder and theft ;
termswhich are softened down by Dr. Spurzheim ,
in his own catalogue, into the words DESTRUC
TIVENESS and COVETISENESS ; but which , in the
body of his work , he treats of under the com
mon and more intelligible names.
The proofs of these organs havebeen laboured
with peculiar force, and not without some apo
logy for their formation . “ Our opponents,"
says Dr. Spurzheim , “ maintain that such a doc
trine isboth ridiculous and dangerous; ridiculous,
because nature could not produce any faculty
absolutely hurtful to man ; dangerous, because
it would permit what is punished as a crime
by the laws. Gall was accustomed to answer,
nobody can deny the facts which prove that
theft exists ; and as it exists, it is not against the
will of the Creator ; and there are very few per

* The table, as modified by Dr. Spurzheim , gives us the

following arrangement. 1 . Order of amativeness. 2 . Phi.
loprogenitiveness. 3. Inhabitiveness. 4 . Adhesiveness.
5 . Combativeness. 6 . Destructiveness . 7. Constructive
ness. - 8 . Covetiseness. 9 . Secretiveness. 10. Self-love.
11. Approbation . 12. Cautiousness . 13. Benevolence.
14 . Veneration . . 15. Hope. 16 . Ideality. 17. Conscious
ness. 18. Firmness. 19. Individuality . 20 . Form . 21.
Size. 22 . Weight. 23. Colour. 24 . Space. 25. Order.
26 . Time. 27. Number. 28. Tune. 29. Language.
30. Comparison . 31. Causality. 32. Wit.' 33. Imitation .
AA 2
356 ON PHYSIOGNOMY

sons who have never stolen any thing. The

organ is, moreover, very considerable in invete
rate thieves." *
The morality here offered is certainly not of
the purest kind . It directly avows that the
Creator has given an express sanction and coun
tenance to robbery and murder by the construc
tion both of the body and mind ; by natural
organs and propensities for the commission of
these crimes. It cannot, indeed, be denied,
that God has willed them , for nothing can take
place contrary to his will. But there is a little
logical nicety or special pleading in this assertion ,
and it is necessary to recall to our recollection
what I endeavoured to prove in a late lecture t,
that the WILL and the DESIRE are two distinct
attributes ; though in ordinary language con
founded and used synonymously. It is true,
then, that God has willed robbery and murder ;
but it is equally true that he has not desired
them : it is equally true that he has most posi
tively expressed his desire upon the subject, and
has forbidden them under the severest threats.
Qur duty, therefore, is to attend to the pro
hibition : our moral conduct is to be collected
from his desire, and not from his will, excepting
where the word will is employed in its popular
sense, and synonymously with desire. The pro
fessors of this new physiognomy, however,having
* Physiolog . System , & c , p .398. 8vo. Lond. 1815.
t Vol III. Ser. III. Lect. VIII.
 AND CRANIOGNOMY. 857
thus advanced their peculiar doctrine upon the
subject before us, endeavour to illustrate it by
copious examples of persons, who, from being
endowed with the stealing bump and stealing
organ , had a peculiar and irresistible propensity
to rob and plunder. Among these, Dr. Spur
zheim introduces various characters whom we
should not very readily have suspected of belong
ing to a gang of thieves. He tells us of a chap
lain in a Prussian regiment, a man of great in .
telligence and ability , who could not avoid ( for
these are his words) stealing handkerchiefs
from the officers at the parade. He informs us,
that Victor Amadeus I., king of Sardinia, took
every where objects of little importance ; and ,
what will still more astonish the audience before
me, that M . Saurin , the Genevese pastor, though
acquainted with the best principles of reason
and religion , was overcome continually by this
propensity to steal. He has given us, how -
ever, no authority for this last assertion ; and no
such calumny should be believed without full
proof.
There is, indeed , an endeavour, on the part
of Dr. Spurzheim , though I do not find he is :
supported by any of his colleagues, to let down,
in some degree, this charge against nature and
the Author of nature, by telling us, that though
the organs exist that bear these names and produce
a specific propensity, they do not urge on the in
dividual to the actual commission of great crimes
of this kind till they are very largely developed ,
A A 3
358 ON PHYSIOGNOMY

and the developement has not been controlled

by other faculties, which he seems to intimate
may have an influence upon them . “ These
functions," says he, “ are ABUSES, which result
from the highest degree of activity of certain
organs, which are not directed byother faculties."
Now , in the first place, it should seem , by his
own examples, that other faculties have very
little control over the master -organ or propen
sity at any time: for, even admitting the truth
of his extraordinary anecdote concerning M .
de Saurin , there can be no doubt that all his
faculties of morality and religion were habitually
at work in repugnancy to his faculty of thieving,
and yet, according to Dr. Spurzheim , to no pur
pose. But, secondly, the learned writer exhibits
a strange inconsistency, in regarding the full
developement of a function “ as the abuse of a
function.” The function is a natural power ;
its growth is a natural power ; and hence its full
developement, or “ the highest activity of the
organ ," instead of being an ABUSE of such organ
or function , ought only to be regarded as its
NATURAL PERFECTION . And , lastly , let thematter
be how it may, the man, even in hismoral charac
' ter, is passive under every stage of its progress ;
or, in the more tangible and explicit language of
M . Magendie, « Il est impossible de se changer à
cet égard . Nous RESTONS TELS QUE LA NATURE
NOUS A FAITS." *

* Précis Elémentaire, 2 toms. 8vo. Paris , 1816 , 1817 .

 AND CRANIOGNOMY. 859

Not a few persons will, perhaps, be surprised at

finding , that nature has likewise kindly provided
us with an impulsory organ for theatrical amuse
ments ; and that she thus seems satisfactorily
to have settled the lawfulness and expediency ,
so eloquently and forcibly controverted by the
learned Bossuet, about a century ago, of fre
quenting theatres and encouraging the drama.
The relative position, moreover, of the differ
ent organs I have thus far noticed , is an object
of no small curiosity . In the map of the scull
those of murder and thieving lie immediately
next to those of friendship and courage ; while
the region for comedies and farces lies directly
between the boundaries of moral goodness and
theosophy or religion : concerning which last
Dr. Bojames expresses himself as follows : “ The
organ of theosophy occupies the most elevated
part of the os frontis. All the portraits of saints
which have been preserved from former ages
afford very instructive examples ; and, if this cha
racter be wanting in any one of them , it will
certainly be destitute of expression . It is ex
cessively developed in religious fanatics, and in
men who have become recluse through superstition
and religious motives. It is the seat of this
organ," continues he, with a subtlety of reasoning
worthyofAquinas,“ which , according to Dr.Gall,
has induced men to consider their gods as above
them ,or in a more elevated part of the heavens;
for otherwise,” he adds, “ there is no more reason
A A 4
360 ON PHYSIOGNOMY

for supposing that God exists above the world

than below it.”
· The theological world cannot but be infinitely
obliged to Dr. Gall and Dr. Bojames for this
new and unanswerable proof of the divine exist
ence. God , it seems, exists, and must exist,
because many men have a bump upon the crown
of the head which these philosophers choose to
call a religious bump. Dr. Gall, indeed, con
tends openly that this organ “ is THE MOST
EVIDENT PROOF OF THE EXISTENCE OF GOD ."
I quote the words of his learned colleague Dr.
Spurzheim * , who is perpetually using the word
proof in the vaguest manner possible, though
å manner common to the school. “ In general,"
says Gall, in continuation, “ every other faculty
of man and animals has an object which it may
accomplish . Can it, then, be probable that God
does not exist,while there is an organ of religion ?
HENCE GOD EXISTS.” .
· The next benefit we obtain from the discovery
of this important organ and embossment is, that
it settles the long-contested question concern
ing the nature and extent of the divine re
sidence the locality or ubiquity of the Deity.
God, it seems, must exist above us, for the re
ligious bump is on the top of the scull ; and he
cannot exist any where else than above us, be
'cause there is no religious bump in any other
direction .

* Physiolog . Syst. ut supr. p . 414.

 AND CRANIOGNOMY. 361
The noble catholicism , moreover, of this in
controvertible proof cannot fail to be matter of
the highest gratification ; a catholicism that
puts that of Christianity to the blush , at the

stration before us extends equally to all gods,

and to all religions : it is found , we are told , in
the portraits of saints ; but it is most highly de.
veloped in religious fanatics, and in men who
have become recluse though superstition. Surely .
if Dr. Gall or Dr. Bojames had looked a little
more closely, they might have discovered that the
still vacant region (vacant, at least, at that time)
is the seat of absurdity or folly, and that some
heads they are acquainted with are not without
its mental manifestation . There is not quite so
much , perhaps, to condemn in Dr. Spurzheim 's
remarks upon the same organ ; for this most able
advocate of the school thinks more clearly , and
writes more cautiously in the main ; but he also
very closely touches, at times, upon the region

boundary ; and, in uniting the name of our

Saviour with that of Jupiter, seems to show , that
the same cast of religion, as well as of moral
philosophy, is common to the school. His re
marks are as follows: “ The pictures of the saints
show the very configuration of those pious men
whom Gall had first observed. It is also in this
respect remarkable that the head of Christ is
always represented as very elevated . Have we
362 ON PHYSIOGNOMY

the head of Christ a configuration which they

have observed in religious persons, or have they
composed this figure from internal inspiration ?
Has the same sentiment among modern artists
given to Christ an elevation of head , as among
the ancient it conferred a prominence of the
forehead upon JUPITER ? At all events, the shape
of the head of Christ contributes to PROVE this
organization." *
Now in this very singular passage there are
three propositions, concerning which, it is difficult
to say which is to be admired most ; a proof
deduced from queries, which the author is inca
pable of answering ; the idea that our Saviour
possibly sat for his picture ; and the idea that
modern artists are possibly inspired when they
paint his image from their own conceptions. I
must leave the reader to make his own com
ments ( for I dare not trust myself upon the sub
ject ) concerning the edifying resemblance which
is here pointed out between the head of the
Saviour of the world and that of the JUPITER of
the Greek poets ; and the unity of SENTIMENT
which has ever, it seems, prevailed between
ancient and modern artists, when engaged in
studying these sacred models. +

* Physiolog. Syst. p. 412.

+ It is always amusing, and sometimes instructive, to trace
the learned rovings of different philosophical imaginations,
when indulging in a like pursuit ; to mark the point from
which they set out, and follow up the parallelism or diver
gency of their respective courses, when aiming at a common
 AND CRANÍOGNOMY. 363

In seriousness and sobriety, however, it is not

a little extraordinary, not only that folly or ab .
surdity , but that wisdom , hypocrisy, gluttony,
drunkenness, sensuality, mirth , melancholy, and
some dozens of other powers and faculties of the
most common kind, should have no chamber
allotted to them , no protuberance or manifesta
tion , in the hypothesis before us. During an
interview I had somemonths ago with Dr. Spur
zheim , I started this difficulty for explanation ; but

goal. Sir Everard Home, whom every one will allow to be

as deeply versed in the internal structure and the external
mapping of the brain as either Dr. Gall or Dr. Spurzheim ,
seems also, from a late article in the Philosophical Transac
tions (1821, p . 31.), to have felt a tendency to the study of
phrenology. But from the only two regions he appears yet
to have visited in his new voyage of discovery, his bearings
are likely to be in every respect widely different from those
of the German navigators, and calculated to lead to very
different results. These regions are the supposed natural
seats of MEMORY and CONCUPISCENCE. While Dr. Gall and
Dr. Spurzheim fix the first of these , as far as they are able
to ascertain its dominion,between the nose and the forehead
(Spurz. p . 427.), Sir Everard has had to pursue his course
into a far higher latitude, and did not reach it till he arrived
at the vertex of the scull, that very region which the Ger
man craniognomists have already taken possession of for the
faculty of religious veneration , as just noticed in the text:
at the same time, that while these skilful explorers have de
cidedly fixed the organ of CONCUPISCENCE at the nape of the
neck , theultima Thule, or lowermost extremity of the cranial
sphere (p . 344 ), Sir Everard has found it at its sinciput or
highest point of the forehead ; bordering, indeed, where we
should little have expected it, upon the region of memory
or religious veneration, according to Dr.Gall's hypothesis.
 364 ON PHYSIOGNOMY

his reply was at least not satisfactory to myself.

It may be sufficient to observe, as a single ex
ample , that for the organ of gluttony he referred
us to the stomach ; but this is rather to evade
than to meet the difficulty . The stomach is un
questionably the organ of hunger, as the eye is
of sight, and the ear of hearing ; but if the
painter, who derives a pleasure of a peculiar
nature from the eye, as in the case of colours ; or
the musician , who derives a pleasure of a peculiar
nature from the ear, as in the case of sounds,
have an express chamber in the brain , by
which such peculiar pleasure is alone excited ,
and on which it alone depends, so ought the
glutton , who derives a pleasure of a peculiar
nature from the stomach . While, if there be no
such cerebral region or chamber in the brain,
and , consequently , no external developement or
manifestation of gluttony, or any of the other
feelings or sentiments I have just glanced at,
the system itself, even admitting its general
truth , must be so far imperfect and unavailing :
it must dwindle into a half science, and be more
liable to lead us astray than aright.
There is also another powerful objection , which
I will beg leave to state, as I stated it at the
same time to the learned lecturer I have just
Sa

alluded to, though, so far as appeared to myself,

without a successful solution. It is this. The
strictly obvious or natural divisions of the brain
are but three ; for wemeet with three, and only
three distinct masses, — the cerebrum or brain
 AND CRANIOGNOMY . 365

properly so called, the cerebel or little brain , and

the oblongated marrow . The first, as we have
formerly observed , constitutes the largest and
uppermost part ; the second lies below and be
hind ; the third level with the second , and in
front of it ; it appears to be a projection issuing
equally from the two other parts, and gives birth
to the spinal marrow , which is thus proved to be
a continuation of the brain extended through the
whole chain of the spine or back -bone.
Now as the brain consists naturaliy of three,
and only three distinct parts, it may be allow
able and pertinent to suppose that each of these
parts is allotted to somedistinct purpose ; as, for
example, that of forming the seat of thinking, or
of the soul; the seat of the local senses of sight,
sound, taste , and smell ; and the seat of that general
feeling which is diffused all over the body ;
but as the nice hand of the anatomist has con
founded even so rational a speculation as this,
by proving that many of the nerves productive
of different functions originate in the same
division of the brain , while others, limited to a
single function , originate in different divisions of
it * ; as it has hereby shown that weknow nothing
of the reason of this palpable conformation , nor
the respective share which each of these grand
divisions takes in producing the general effect,
- how fanciful and presumptuous must it be to
partition each or any one of these divisions into

* See Stud, of Med . vol. iv. p. 6 . 2d edit.

 OMY
366 ON PHYSIOGN

a number of imaginary regions, and to guess ,

for after all, it comes to nothing more, at the
respective duties allotted to these boundaries of
our own conceit !
But themost serious, or perhaps I should rather
say the most ludicrous, and as it appears to me
the most fatal objection to this hypothesis, is the
extraordinary fact that the different professors of
it cannot agree in dividing the brain , or in map
ping the scull-bone ; some of them telling us,
that a bump or protuberance in a given situ
ation imports one faculty, and others, that it
imports another faculty ;, while one or two of
them have, at different times, assigned different
faculties or manifestations to the same bump.
The organ which Dr. Gall at first called that of
courage, he afterwards denominated that of quar
relsomeness, and still later that of self-defence.
Now the qualities of self-defence and of quarrel
someness are as opposite as those of light and
darkness ; while that of courage is distinct from
both of them . So the organ of the theatrical
talent he afterwards detected to be, and con
sequently denominated it, the organ of poetry ;
and Dr. Spurzheim has since found out that even
this name, to adopt his own words, “ does not
indicate the essential faculty of the organ," *
which is rather that of fancy or imagination ;
and he has hence called it the organ of ideality .
Gall asserts that there is no separate organ for

* Physiolog. Syst. p. 417 .

 AND CRANIOGNOMY. 367

hoker Spurzheim contends that there is, and

that its protuberance lies near the crown of the
head . Gall asserts that nature has furnished
us with one region or propensity for assassination
or murder, and two for thieving or stealing -
daring and audacious stealing, and cunning cir
cumspect stealing. Spurzheim is more moderate :
he contends that nature has given us but one
for each , and maintains that the second stealing
bump, of Gall manifests nothing more than a
general propensity to reserve or secrecy.* Gall
makes the same organ which impels various ani
mals, as the chamois or wild goat, to prefer lofty
situations, indicative of pride or self-love in man .
This, in Bojames's table, is denominated the
region of vanity or conceit ; but as such a term
will not cover the idea of fondness for elevated
situations, Dr.Gall has since called it the region
of haughtiness. Now this would do well enough
for a conundrum -maker: - - why is a wild goat
like a proud man ? because it is fond of what is
haughty or lofty ; - but such quirks and punnings
are altogether unworthy of the dignity of serious
philosophy. Dr. Spurzheim , indeed , has, felt it
so ; but then he has still further confounded the
hypothesis, by honestly confessing, in the first
place , that he does not know where the organ
that impels us to prefer one place rather than
another resides, though he apprehends there is
such an organ ; whilst he positively affirms that

* Physiolog. Syst. pp. 400. 402.

 368 ON PHYSIOGNOMY

the bump or protuberance of self-love or pride

lies in another part of the head than that
affirmed by his colleague and master.
“ Who shall decide when doctors disagree ?"
A thousand other objections and inconsisten .
cies, each of them perhaps fatal to the hypothesis,
might be pointed out, if we had time. I may
especially ask , since murder and thieving have
express organs in the brain, how it comes to pass
that lying, and swearing, and backbiting have
not equal organs ? If the mechanic and the
painter have organs that specifically identify
them , why has not the haberdasher and the
tailor ? the latter more especially , since, as it has
lately been attempted to be proved, by a learned
writer on the subject, that the calling of the
tailor is the oldest of all professions whatever ;
6 a calling,” says he, “ that commenced im
mediately after the fall : for it was then that
mankind sewed fig -leaves together, and made
themselves clothes.”
Even upon the subject of the religious bump,
upon which I have said so much already, the
professors of the new school cannot altogether
agree ; for while Dr. Gall and Dr. Bojames
affirm that this protuberance on the top of the
head indicates the existence of a God, and is
the most cogent proof mankind possess of such
existence, Dr. Spurzheim contends that it is no
proof whatever that his friends have mistaken
the quality and that it indicates neither religion
 AND CRANIOGNOMY. 369

nor morality ; both which, it seems, in the opi

nion of this enlightened philosopher, have
nothing to do with each other: for, “ oneman,”
says Dr. Spurzheim , “ may be religious without
being just, and another may be just without
being religious.” * Dr. Spurzheim gives to this
protuberance, therefore, a different and a far
ampler scope, so as to cover, as all his names do,
fifty or a hundred qualities at the same time.
He calls it, indeed , the organ of veneration,
which at first sight appears to have an approach
to the name given it by Gall and Bojames ; but
then he especially tells us, “ that this faculty
does not determine the object to be venerated,
nor the manner of venerating ; and that it equally
includes the veneration of God, of saints, of
persons, or any thing else, however mean or
contemptible.” Yet this is the organ which Dr.
Spurzheim has supposed to have been peculiarly
developed in the head of the Saviour. As some
amends, however, for his philosophical apostasy
upon this point, he makes Dr. Gall's organ
of moral goodness, in his explanation , the organ
of Christian charityt, for so he expresses him .
self ; introduces a new organ, which Gall will
not allow , and a bump which Gall cannot find
out, to indicate religious hope and faith , and
which he places next to Gall's religious bump ;
at the same time totally defeating the value of
his amende honorable by adding, that this organ
• Physiolog. Syst. p . 415 . + Id . p . 416 .
VOL. III. в в
370 ON PHYSIOGNOMY

of faith and hope, “ in persons ENDOWED with it

in a higher degree," manifests credulity." *
Such, then , are a few of the inconsistencies of
the new hypothesis, and the discordancies of
its different professors with each other.
But it may be replied, that there is no reason
ing against facts ; that the gentlemen I allude
to are men of learning and character ; and that
they have actually determined the moral pro
pensities of a multitude of persons, by a refer
ence to the rules of their own art. I admit the
learning and character of these gentlemen, and
most freely pay homage to them on this score ;
but these qualities, though a full security against
voluntarily deceiving others, is no proofwhatever
against self-deception .
. There is no science, perhaps, among those pro
fessed formerly, and held in the highest estima
tion , which has fallen into more contempt than
that of judicial astrology. Yet this, when it was in
fashion, was for ages embraced by men of the
greatest learning and talents, and of umblemished
integrity ; and who, in a thousand instances,
foretold events that actually came to pass ; and
persuaded themselves that they foretold them
by the rules of their own art. Such , to confine
ourselves to times comparatively recent, were
Baptista Porta , Cardan , and Kepler, of the six
teenth century : the first, the most distinguished
scholar, and the two last the most distinguished
mathematicians of their age ; and such were the
Abbé de Rancé, the celebrated founder of the
* Phisiolog . Syst. p .416 .
 AND CRANIOGNOMY. 371

monastery ofLaTrappe, and our own two learned

countrymen and poets Cowley and Dryden , in the
seventeenth century. And let the school before
us, therefore, boast as much as they may upon
this subject, we can bring far more numerous
instances of individuals as honest, as successful,
and incomparably more learned, who have de
voted themselves to a science which is now
utterly abandoned by every man in the posses
sion of his senses. To talk , therefore , of the
occasional success of the physiognomists before
us, is to add not a barley -corn to the scale in
their favour ; since right they must sometimes
be, upon the common doctrine of chances and
the very nature of things ; right they may some
times be, from the common physiognomy of the
face ; right they may still more frequently be,
from the artful and sweeping amplitude of the
reply which may be made to cover a variety of
tempers or propensities at the same time ; and
necessarily and infallibly right they do not pro
fess to be.
Thewhole, in truth, is founded on hypothesis :
here it begins, and here it ends; hypothesis , too,
unsettled and disputed , in many of its points,
among themselves. And yet, planting their feet
upon this tottering and unsteady ground , they
are perpetually, uttering the proud and lofty
words science, proof, and demonstration ; than
which a more palpable or grosser abuse of terms
can never be employed or conceived .
In few words, how grossly imperfect must be
B B 2
37% ON PHYSIOGNOMY AND CRANIOGNOMY.
the range and condition of that science, which ,
upon their own showing, is capable of decipher
ing to us, that this man is a good musician ;
that a good painter ; a third , a good linguist ; a
fourth , a good dramatist ; a fifth , a good theolo
gian ; a sixth , a good murderer; and a seventh a
good thief ; and that any or all these may at
the same time be ambitious, or courageous, or
conceited, or cunning ; while, if you ask them
whether they are good liars, good backbiters, or
good swearers; whether they are inclined to
gluttony or sensuality, to wisdom or folly, to
sympathy or hypocrisy , to timidity or confi
dence, to mirth or to melancholy ; characters,
the one or the other of which apply to every
one you meet with , whether abroad or at home,
they are compelled to acknowledge that their
physiognomy or craniognomy does not extend to
any one of these qualities, and that nature has
either forgotten to put them into the catalogue
with which the head is covered, or has marked
them so bunglingly and obscurely, that they
cannot read the writing.
 373

LECTURE XIV .

ON THE LANGUAGE OF THE PASSIONS.

In an early lecture in the present series I ob

served that the passions, when called forth and
operating, discover themselves by a double in
fluence upon the organs of the body, the EX
PRESSION OF THE FEATURES, and the CHARACTER
OF THE LANGUAGE. The first we have already
noticed ; let the second serve as a subject for the
lecture before us.
That the presence and operation of the pas .
sions give a peculiar style and animation to the
language must have been observed by every one
who has paid the slightest attention either to his
own feelings, or to those of the world around
him . The man who is in a state of calm and
tranquillity will always have his ideas flow in a
calm and tranquil current, and express them
in an easy and uniform tenour. But let him be
róused by some sudden and violent insult, or by
some unexpected stroke of overwhelming joy or
sorrow , and the tempest of his soul will give a
corresponding tempest to his utterance. His
speech , instead ofbeing mild and uniform , will be
vehement, energetic, exclamatory, and abrupt ;
his judgment will be borne down, his imagina.
BB 3
374 ON THE LANGUAGE

tion ascendant ; the face of nature will, in

consequence, assume a new aspect, presenting a
distorted, an unduly bright, or an unduly sad
dened picture, according to the nature of the
predominant emotion ; and the păraseology will
partake of the colouring, and become propor
tionably figurative and fanciful.
This is not a sketch of any particular age or
country, but of all ages and all countries ; it is a
sketch ofmankind at large ; and we draw from
it these two conclusions : first, that the natural
language of the passions is strong, ardent, and
abrupt ; or broken into short sentences or versi
cles ; full of figure and imagination , and con
sequently possessing all the radical characters of
poetry : and, secondly , that we may expect to
meet with the boldest and most frequent use of
this kind of language in those periods of every
nation in which the passions have been most
unrestrained and luxuriant, and therefore in
their earliest and least cultivated state ; for we
have already seen , that in this state the most
vehement and energetic passions are in per
petual play and activity .
Now the whole history of the world will con
firm us in ' these two general corollaries ; and it
has hence been said , and in a restricted sense
said truly , that the language of poetry is older
than that of prose . Its principles are founded
in nature, and in nature in her simplest and
most unsophisticated state ; and it is to these
principles mankind uniformly recur, whenever
 OF THE PASSIONS. 375 .

hurried by a violent shock of feeling from the

polished tameness and monotony of colloquial
speech . It is then we return to exclamations,
interrogations, broken sentences, bold and daring
comparisons; and , whether we be indifferent to
the world or not, succeed in interesting it in our
fate and condition.
Where, among uncultivated tribes , the passions
chiefly called into exercise have been of the
pleasurable and sprightly kind, such as we have
already seen are the natural result of warmth
and beneficence of climate, of tranquil scenery,
and an atmosphere perfumed by the rival odours
of spontaneous blossoms and balsams, the rude
burst of delight has assumed a more regular or
measured character, and been uttered in the
form of chant or brisk melody, with such cor
responding attitudes or movements of the body
as might best co-operate in proving the exuberant
gaiety of the heart. And hence music and
dancing are nearly of as early origin as poetry :
they were prompted by the same impulse, and
had a direct tendency to heighten each other's
power ; while ingenuity soon taught the more
dexterous of the tribes to imitate musical sounds
by the invention of the simple instruments of
pipes and rebecks. The Greek philosophers in
geniously and perhaps correctly ascribed the first
carols of the human voice to an imitation of the
wild notes of the birds ; and the first idea of
musical instruments to the occasional whispers
of the breeze amongst beds of hollow reeds.
вв 4
376 ON THE LANGUAGE

Lucretius has expressed himself upon this sub

ject with so much sweetness, that I lament the
constraint I feel under of quoting him before a
popular audience rather in a translation than in
his native beauty and elegance ; yet the fol
lowing verses will, I presume, give a faint idea
of the high merit of the original.

And from the liquid warblings of the birds

Learn’d they their first rude notes, ere music yet
To the rapt ear had tuned the measured verse ;
And Zephyr, whispering through the hollow reeds,
Taught the first swains the hollow reeds to sound ;
Whence woke they soon those tender-trembling tones
Which the sweet pipe, when by the fingers pressid ,
Pours o 'er the hills, the vales, the woodlands wild ,
Haunts of lone shepherds and the rural gods.
Thus soothed they every care, with music thus
Closed every meal, for rests the bosom then .
And oft they threw them on the velvet grass,
Near gliding streams, by shadowy trees o'erarch’d ,
And, though no gold was theirs, found still the means
To gladden life. But chief when genial Spring
Led forth her laughing train , and the young year
Painted the meads with roseate flowers profuse ,
Then mirth , and wit, and wiles, and frolic, chief
Flow 'd from the heart ; for then the rustic Muse
Warmest inspired them ; then convivial sport
Taught round their heads, their shoulders, taught to twine
Foliage, and flowers, and garlands, richly dight ;
To loose, innumerous time their limbs to move,
And beat with sturdy foot maternal earth ;
While many a smile and many a laughter loud
Told allwas new , and wondrousmuch esteem 'd .
Thus wakeful lived they ; cheating of its rest
The drowsy midnight ; with the jocund dance
Mixing gay converse ,madrigals, and strains,
 OF THE PASSIONS. 377
Run o'er the reedswith broad recumbent lip : .
As, wakeful still, our revellers through night ;
Lead on their defter dance to time precise ,
Yet cull not costlier sweets, with all their art,
Than the rude offspring earth in woodlandsbore.*

Nature is ever the same ; and hencemusic , and

dancing , and poetry , and impassioned language
are to be found at this moment, in all their energy
and irregular wildness, among the barbarians of
North America , those of the Polynesian islands,
and even the negro tribes of Africa ; while not
unfrequently we hear an equally daring and
figurative diction, though of a very different
kind, vented by the last in a state of Mexican
or West Indian slavery, alternately intermixed
with terrible execrations on the heads of their
cruel task -masters, and with the most piteous
longings for freedom and their native land.
In like manner it existed , and was even cul
tivated with systematic attention , among the
earliest savages of the hyperboreal snows, the
Goths, Scythians, or Scandinavians ; nor less so
among the Celtic tribes of Gaul, Britain , and
Ireland . The scalds of the former, and the bards
or druids of the latter, were always held in the
highest dignity and admiration ; their persons
were esteemed sacred ; their rhapsodies were in
measured flow , and had an enthusiastic effect in

* At liquidas avium voces imitarier ore

Ante fuit multo , quam lævia carmina cantu, & c .
Lib. v. 1378.
378 ON THE LANGUAGE

rousing their fellow -countrymen to arms, to

religious rites, or funeral lamentations ; in re
hearsing the dangers they had encountered, and
the victories they had gained ; and in stimulat
ing them to a contempt of torment and death
under every shape, in the high career of heroic
exploits, and the glory of living in the national
hymns of future ages.
Such was the death- song of Regner Lodbrok ,
a Danish prince of the eighth century , and one
of the most celebrated scalds of his day. It
mischanced the warrior to fall into the hands of
his enemies,by whom he was thrown into prison ,
and condemned to be destroyed by serpents.
In this situation he solaced himself with rehears .
ing all the exploits of his life ; and the following
is a part of the ferocious verses he composed in
the immediate prospect of the fate reserved for
him , translated word for word by OlausWormius
from the Runic original: “ He only regrets this
life who has never known distress : he who aspires,
to the love of virgins, ought always to be fore
most in the roar of arms. In the halls of our
father Balder (or Odin ) I know there are seats
prepared , where in a short time we shall drink
ale out of the hollow sculls of our enemies. In
the house of the mighty Odin no brave man
laments death . I come not with the voice of
despair to Odin ' s hall.”
Mr. Gray has been peculiarly happy in in
spiriting the old patriotic bard of Cambria with
a similar contempt of death . The entire de
 OF THE PASSIONS. 379

scription is well known to every one , but it

cannot be too often repeated , and ought not to
be neglected on the present occasion . The
picture of his standing on the battlements of
Conway Castle, and terrifying the English con
queror with his dying prophecy, as the latter
was descending the shaggy steep of Snowdon, is
exquisite and inimitable.
On a rock , whose haughty brow
Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood,
Robed in the sable garb of woe ,
With haggard eyes-the poet stood ,
(Loose his beard and hoary hair
Stream ' d , like a meteor to the troubled air ),
And with a master's hand and prophet's fire
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.

The detail of the prophecy is too long for

quotation ; but the following fragments, which
form its opening and ending, ought by nomeans
to be omitted. . .

Ruin seize thee, ruthless king !

Confusion on thy banners wait !
Though , fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing,
They mock the air with idle state !
Helm , nor hawberk's twisted mail,
Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant ! shall avail
To save thy secret soul from nightly fears -
From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears !
– Fond, impiousman ! think'st thou yon sanguine cloud,
Raised by thy breath , has quench 'd the orb of day ? . .
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood,
And warms the nations with redoubled ray. in :
380 ON THE LANGUAGE

Enough for me ! — with joy I see .

The different doom our fates assign.
Be thine despair, and sceptred care -
To triumph and to die are mine. -
He spoke : and headlong from themountain 's height
Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night.

The first of these descriptions is derived from

a people of Gothic or Scythian origin , whose
ferocity of manners I have formerly pointed out,
and endeavoured to account for : the second
refers to a race of Celts or Cymbrians, for the
most part of milder affections, and some tribes
of which appear at a very early era of their
history, and even in the infancy of civilisation ,
to have evinced a tenderness of sentiment, a
fecundity of imagery, and a cultivation of style ,
that are truly wonderful, and have never been
satisfactorily accounted for. And I now particu
larly allude to the traditional poems of the High
lands and the adjoining isles, so well known
from Mr. Macpherson' s translation , and occa
sional interweavings. Such is the elegance and
delicacy of taste, as well as sublime genius and
national enthusiasm , of these singular produc
tions, that Dr. Johnson , as many of us may
perhaps recollect, was to the last an infidel as to
their genuineness. The first, however, has been
sufficiently ascertained of late by the indefati
gable and valuable exertions of the Highland
Society, formed for the express purpose of in .
quiring into the nature and authenticity of the
poems of Ossian , the Homer of the Highlands;
 OF THE PASSIONS. 381
whose report has been published by Mr. Mac
kenzie , their liberal and enlightened chairman .
They have sufficiently established the important
fact that Ossian is not an imaginary being ; that

preserved by tradition over the whole of the

Highlands and the Hebrides ; and that several
of his poems, to an extent of many hundred
lines, as literally rendered by Macpherson , still
live in the memory of many of the oldest in
habitants, of the simplestmanners, and who are
incapable either of writing or reading , having
been taught them by their fathers in early life , as
their fathers had in like manner received them
from a long line of progenitors through an imme
poems, have in various instances been taken
down in the original Gaelic, from the mouths of
the venerable reciters, by persons of the greatest
respectability, many of them appointed for this.
purpose by the Society I am now speaking of,
and on being compared with each other, and with

a close and literal agreement, in many instances

through a range of some hundreds of lines, par
ticularly in the important poems of Caricthura
and Fingal. While, to enable the public to form
a fuller judgment upon the subject, and to free
themselves from every charge of prejudice, the
committee , in their very excellent report, have
not only given an unmutilated copy of their
correspondence, but extensive specimens of the
382 - ON THE LANGUAGE

original Gaelic itself, together with a new and

verbal translation as well as Mr. Macpherson ' s
version .
Against such evidence it is impossible to shut
our eyes ; and, admitting it , we must conclude
with the committee, that, though Mr.Macpherson
may have taken occasional liberties with the text
from which he translated , omitted some pass
ages, and supplied others that were perhaps lost,
yet that the poetry called Ossianic is genuine ;
that it was common , and in great abundance ;
thatit was peculiarly striking and impressive, and
in a high degree eloquent, tender, and sublime.
Of the epoch in which Ossian flourished we can
form a tolerable guess : for, with occasional re
ferences to several of the earlier Roman em
perors, and especially to Caracalla , the son of
Severus, who by Ossian is called Caracal, we find
through the whole of his accredited poems a
total unącquaintance with the Christian religion ,
and hence he can scarcely be allowed to have
lived earlier than in the second, or later than in
the third or fourth century of the Christian era.
So that the poems of Ossian must be of an anti
quity not less by three or four centuries than
the descent of Cæsar upon the British coast. And
consequently we have at this moment a living
proof of the existence of traditionary poems of
the highest pretensions to genius, sublimity , and
regularity of structure , that have been kept
afloat in the memories of different generations
for upwards of a thousand years, and some of
 OF THE PASSIONS. 388
them with but few variations, or loss of their
original integrity .
To account, in some degree, for this striking
and isolated fact, wemust, in the first place, re
collect, that these poems are strictly national ;
and ,by a perpetual appeal to national passionsand
feelings, must have deeply interested every one
who heard them in their preservation . Secondly,
we know from the writingsof Julius Cæsar, that
the British druids, and consequently the British
bards, on his landing, were embodied into dis
tinct colleges, subject to a discipline of rigid
study, and compelled to commit to memory so
great an extent of verses, that many of them re
quired not less than twenty years to complete
this part of their education ; it being held im
pious to record sacred poems in written charac
ters, or to transmit them in any other way than
by tradition from race to race. And, lastly , it
should not be forgotten that poetry constituted
the noblest science of these early times, and that
the highest honour a hero could receive was to
be celebrated in deathless verse. To die un
lamented by a bard , was deemed , indeed, so great
a misfortune as even to disturb the ghosts of
the deceased in another state . They wander,"
says the son of Fingal, “ in thick mists beside
the reedy lake ; butnever shallthey rise WITHOUT
SONG to the dwelling of the winds." . . .
Ossian seemsto have been wonderfully skilled
in the language of all the passions. Equally
vehement, gentle , and sublime, he could rouse at
384 ON THE LANGUAGE

his will the fury of the brave, or melt him to

tears of tenderness . The following passage, being
part of the address of Fingal to his grandson
Oscar, is full of heroism and fine feeling ; and I
give it from the version of Dr. Donald Smith
rather than from that of Mr. Macpherson , as
being not only more literal, but more beautiful.

Son ofmy son ! said the king,

O Oscar, pride of the generous youth !
I saw the gleaming of thy sword ,
And I gloried to behold thee victorious in the battle :
Tread close on the fame of thy fathers,
And cease not to be what they have been .
When Trenmor lived , of glorious deeds,
And Trathal, the father ofheroes,
They fought every battle with success. -
Oscar ! bend thou the strong in arms ;
Protect the weak of hand , and the needy.
· Be as a spring-tide-stream in winter
To resist the foes of the people of Fingal ;
But like the soft and gentle breeze of summer
To those who ask thine aid .
So lived the conquering Trenmor ;
Such after him was Trathal, of victorious prowess,
And Fingal — the support of the feeble.
On a daywhen Fingal had but few in his train,
By the fall of the soft murmuring Roya,
There was seen to sail in the midst of the ocean
A boat that conveyed a lovely woman .
It neither halted nor slackened
Till it reached the river-fall :
When out of it rose the beauty of female form ,
She shone as a beam ofthe sun ;
Her look exceeded her figure.
« Branch ofbeauty ! covered with the dew of grief,"
This calmly I said ,
 OF THE PASSIONS. 385

36 If blue (naked ] swords can defend thee ,

“ Our dauntless hearts will second them ."
“ Thy protection I claim , for thou art Fingal,"
Replied the daughter of youth :
“ By the excellence of thy might, and by thine eloquence ,
“ I claim speedy and opportune protection.
. “ Thy countenance is a sun to the forlorn,
“ Thy shield is the dwelling-place ofmercy.
“ I am pursued over the sea :
" A hero of heavy wrath is following my track ;
“ The son of Sora'sking pursuesme;
« The mighty chief - whose name is Mayro Borb."
“ Rest thou here under my protection ,
“ Beautiful form of the fairest hue !
“ And, in defiance of Mayro Borb,
“ Thou shalt find safety under the shade ofmy shield ."
Perhaps the two sublimest passages in the
poems of Ossian are, his Address to the Sun in
his Carthon, and his description of the Spirit of
Loda in his Caricthura, the genuineness of both
which is ascertained beyond the power of sus
picion . The first evinces sublimity combined
with exquisite tenderness ; and has a near re
semblance to Milton' s admirable address of the
same kind . The second evinces sublirnity com
bined with majestic terror, and has as near a :
resemblance to the mighty Spirit of the Cape in
Camoens's Lusiad, though it is greatly superior.
Wehave not time for quoting both these passages,
and I shall confine myself, therefore, to the latter.
I shall quote from Mr. Macpherson 's version ,
which is sufficiently true to the original.
“ The wan cold moon rose in the east. Sleep
descended on the youths. Their blue helmets
VOL. III. C C
 386 : ON THE LANGUAGE

glitter to the beam . But sleep did not rest on

the king. He rose in themidst of his arms, and
slowly ascended the hill, to behold the flame of
Sarno's tower. The flame was dim and distant ;
the moon hid her red face in the east. A blast
came from the mountain : on its wings was the
spirit of Loda. He came to his place in his ter
rors, and shook his dusky spear. His eyes ap
pear like flames in his dark face : his voice is
like distant thunder. Fingal advanced his spear
in night, and raised his voice on high. Son of
night, retire : call thy winds, and fly ! Why dost
thou come to my presence with thy shadowy.
arms? Do I fear thy gloomy form , spirit of dis
mal Loda ? Weak is thy shield of clouds ; feeble
is that meteor thy sword ! The blast rolls them
together ; and thou thyself art lost. Fly from
my presence, son of night! call thy winds, and
fly ! '
" • Dost thou force me from my place ? re
plied the hollow voice. « I turn the battle in
the field of the brave. I look on the nations, and
they vanish : my nostrils pour the blast of death .
I come abroad on the winds : the tempests are
before my face. Butmy dwelling is calm above
the clouds ; pleasant are the fields ofmy rest.'
i « Dwell in thy pleasant fields,' said the king,
• Let Comhall's son be forgotten. Do my steps
ascend from my hills into thy peaceful plains?
Do I meet thee with a spear on thy cloud,
spirit of dismal Loda ? Why then dost thou
frown on me ? Why shake thine airy spear ?
 OF THE PASSIONS. 387
Thou frownest in vain : I never fled from the
mighty in war ; and shall the sons of the wind
frighten the king of Morven ? No he knows
the weakness of their arms.'
6 . Fly to thy land,' replied the form : • take
to the wind, and fly ! The blasts are in the
hollow of my hand : the course of the storm is
mine. The king of Sora (the enemy of Fingal)
is my son ; he bends at the stone ofmy power .
His battle is around Caricthura ; and he will
prevail ! Fly to thy land, son of Comhal, or feel
my flaming wrath !'
“ He lifted high his shadowy spear ! he bent
forward his dreadful height. Fingal, advancing,
drew his sword, the blade of dark brown Luno.
The gleaming path of the steel winds through
the gloomy ghost. The form fell shapeless into
air."
Ullin , Orran, and other ancient Gaelic bards,
seem to have been almost as celebrated as Ossian ;
and even of Ossian 'spoetry Mr.Macpherson has
not perhaps, after all, selected the most beauti
ful. The “ Death ofGaul,” published in 1780,
by Dr. Smith of Campbelton , in Argyleshire,
and accompanied with the original, as taken
down from the memory of different Highland
families, is one of the sweetest and tenderest,
and at the same time one of the most regular
pieces that has ever been composed in any lan
guage.' Gaul was the bosom friend of Oscar, the
son of Ossian , and the grandson of Fingal. The
CC 2
 388 ON THE LANGUAGE

. story, in few words, is as follows. Fingal sum .

moned his heroes for an expedition to the isle of
Ifrona. A flood in the river Strumon prevented
Gaul from joining them in time ; but he put forth
in his bark alone on the ensuing day. On his
voyage he passed his friends, who were returning
victorious, without his perceiving them , and
landed singly on the hostile shore. Consistently
with the chivalroushonour of the times, he would
not fly ; but struck his shield as a token of de
fiance to the islanders , against whom he main
tained, singly, a desperate conflict, and kept the
enemy at a distance ; till at length a stone, rolled
from above, disabled him from moving or fighting
any longer ; in which situation he was left by
the dastardly enemy to pine and die without
succour. His wife Evirchoma, anxious for his
fate , embarked, with her infant son Ogall at her
breast, in quest of her lord , whom she found in
this pitiable condition ; when, rousing all her
might to assist him , she just succeeded in drag .
ging him to the boat, and then fainted away over
his body ; in which state , speechless and in the
act of dying, they were both discovered the next
morning by Ossian , who had sailed in quest of
them , and who was only able to save the child .
From the poem thus introduced, and which is
not generally known in this part of the island, I
must beg leave to offer an extract or two . The
following is Ossian 's description of Evirchoma,
as she witnessed the mournful departure of her
husband :
 OF THE PASSIONS. 389

In the light ship of rough waves

The hero followed us on the secondmorning.
But who is she, on the rock , like mist ,
Looking, through tears, on Gaul ?
Her dark hair wanders on the wind ,
And her soft hand, white as foam , surrounds her forelock.
Young is the boy on her bosom ,
Sweet is her lullaby in his ear .
But a sigh has wafted away the song :
On Gaul are thy thoughts fixed, Evirchoma.

The following is an exquisite picture ofmingled

and overwhelming passions — courage, heroism ,
and tenderness. Having chivalrously planted
his standard , and singly defied all the enemy, a
rushing thought of his wife and his child, of
Evirchoma and Ogall, damps his resolution for a
moment ; but he is instantly recalled to himself
by the idea of the spirit of his heroic father
hovering over him :
Morni ! behold me from themountain .
Thy own soul was an impetuous current,
Foaming white within a rocky strait :
Such is the soul of thy son . -
Evirchoma ! - Ogall ! - .
Butmild beamsbelong not to the storm :
The soulofGaul is in the roar of battle.

The conflict of passions in the breast of Evir

choma, on reaching the hostile shore, is described
with equal force - her desire to proceed in quest
of her husband, and her fear of leaving her babe
behind her in the boat. It was now late in the
evening :
cc 3
390 ON THE LANGUAGE

She glanced by the scanty beam

On the beautiful face of her son ,
When about to leave him in her narrow skiff :
6 Babe ofmy love ! be here unobserved !"
As a dove on the rock of Ulácha ,
When gathering berries for her tender brood ,
Returns often without tasting them ,
While the hawk rises in her thoughts ;
So returned three times Evirchoma:
Her soul, as a wave that is passed
From breaker to breaker, when the tempest blows,
Till she heard a mournful voice from the tree of the shore.

I have said that the generous Ossian pursued

them in another boat, and found them both in
the act of dying. The following is his own
inimitable description : it is strikingly impressive,
and especially the manner in which the faint
and dying mother commends her son to his care ;
and calls forth a sigh from his heart that his
own wife Evirallin is no more .

I lifted his helmet : I saw his locks

Disordered, uneven, in sweat.
My cry arose - -
And he raised with difficulty his eye. ..
Death came, like a cloud on the sun :
No more shalt thou see thy Oscar.
The beauty of Evirchoma is darkened.
Her son , unconscious, holds the end of a spear : .
Feeble was her voice, and few her words.
I raised her up with my hand,
But she laid my palm on the head of her son ,
While her sigh rose frequent. -
Dear child ! vain is thy fondling ;
 OF THE PASSIONS . 391

Thy mother no more shall arise .

I willmyself,be a father to thee :
But Evirallin is no more .

Yet the poem must not be closed without

giving you its conclusion ; its exquisite moral,
and its sublime epitaph.

What is the strength of the warrior,

Though he scatter the battle as withered leaves ?
To-day though he may be valiant in the field ,
To-morrow the beetle will triumph over him .
Prepare, ye children of musical strings,
The bed of Gaul and his sun -beam (standard] by him ;
Let his resting-place be seen from afar,
By high branches overshadowed ;
Under the wing of the oak of greenest foliage,
Of quickest growth , and most durable form ,
Shooting forth its leaves to the breeze of the shower ,
When the heath around is still withered .
Its leaves, from the extremity of the land ,
Shall be seen by the birds of the summer ;
And each bird shall perch , as it arrives,
On a sprig of its verdant branches.
Gaul, in his mist, shall hear their cheerful note ,
While the virgins are singing of Evirchoma.
Until all of these shall perish ,
Never shall your memory be disunited .
Until the stone shall crumble into dust,
And the oak -tree decay with age ;
Until streams shall cease to flow ,
And the mountain -waters be dried up at their source ;
Until there be lost, in the flood of age,
Each bard, and song, and subject of story ,
The stranger shall not ask , " who was Morni's son ?"
Or, “ where was the dwelling of the king of Strumon ?"

cc4
392 ON THE LANGUAGE

The voice of the passions, then , whether of

joy or sorrow, of rage or tenderness , is the voice
of poetry ; and the voice of poetry is, in conse
quence, the voice of the passions. It is hence
the earliest language of every nation , and it is
not, therefore, to be wondered at that it should
have been employed from a very remote period
as the medium of national history, national
mythology,and moral precepts ; its glowing and
animated style being peculiarly calculated to
captivate the attention, and the recurrentmeasure
or versification which , under someshape or other,
it has assumed, and could not fail to assume, in
every part of the world , being admirably adapted
to assist the memory.
Hence in the first ages of Greece , as well as of
every other nation, priests, philosophers, and
statesmen, all delivered their instructions in
poetry. Apollo, Orpheus, and Amphion, the
earliest bards of the Grecian states, are repre
sented as the first tamers of mankind , the first
founders of order and civilisation. Minos and
Thales sung to the lyre the laws which they
.composed ; and, till the age immediately pre
ceding that of Herodotus, history appeared in no
otherform than that ofpoeticaltales. Atthis time,
however, science began to rear her head through
the regions of Arcadia ; the judgment acquired
daily strength ; and, while a soberer style was
found to be befitting the severer studies, and the
simple narrative of national or biographical events,
the dialect of the passions was limited to those
10
 OF THE PASSIONS. 393

branches of speech or writing which require orna

ment, attraction, oran excitement of the passions
themselves : and by.such a change verbal compo
sition soon rose to the rank of a very extensive
and complicated science ; the value of every word
became weighed in its root, combinations, and
inflections ; in its strict and figurative senses ; in
its proper enunciation and accent. And hence
the origin of the elementary studies of etymology,
grammar, prosody, and criticism ; while the ge
neral mint of language, thus prepared and struck
off, was still subject to the inquisitorial powers
of logic and rhetoric ; the art of reasoning or
assigning determinate ideasto determinate words;
and the art of polishing or adorning the dry skele
ton of naked sense with the gay and ornamental
dress of trope, figure , and elegant collocation .
· Rhetoric , therefore, is nothing more than the
natural language of the passions or the imagina
tion which so closely associates with them , re
duced to the rules of art. It is the study of those
peculiar modes ofexpression, warm , exclamatory,
abrupt, interjective, full of energy, image, and
personification, by which the passions charac
terise themselves when called into action ; and
which , as the natural symbols of the passions,
have the wonderful power, not only during re
citation, but on paper alone, when read by our
selves in the privacy of the closet, of enkindling
in the mind of the reader or hearer the very
feelings ofwhich they are the representatives.
Hence the soothing tranquillity produced by
 394 ON THE LANGUAGE

pastoral poetry ; the melting sympathy with

which we yield to metrical tales of distress and
misery ; the rousing, dithyrambic effect of na
tional songs ; the sublime enthusiasm of de
votional lyrics. Hence the well-planned fictions
of the epic Muse excite all the interest of real
life ; the popular orator, laying hold of the same
weapons, subdues every heart to his own pur
poses ; but, above all, hence the magic spell of
the drama, that, by personating the characters
and scenery of the subject it selects, transports
us to the time, place , and circumstance of the
representation , and makes us parties to its own
story .
The drama, above every thing else, is the
language of the passions carried into real life,
and enlisted on the side of virtue. I say on
the side of VIRTUE, because such power has
virtue over the human mind, by the wise and
gracious constitution of our nature, that nei
ther epic poetry can excite admiration , nor
tragic poetry emotion , unless virtuous feelings
be awakened within us. Every poet finds it
impossible to interest an audience in a charac
ter ' without representing that character as
worthy and honourable, though it may not be
perfect ; and he is equally aware that the great
secret for raising indignation, is to paint the per
son who is to be the object of it in the colours
of vice and DEPRAVITY. And hence, Aristotle
speaks with his usual correctness , when he tells
us, that the design of tragedy (and it is to the
tragic drama I am now limiting my attention ) is
 OF THE PASSIONS. 395

to purify our corrupt tendencies by means of

pity and terror. Such was the direct scope of
the simple tragedy of the Greeks ; the uniform
object of Æschylus, who founded it ; of Euripi
des, who improved ; and of Sophocles, who per
fected it ; and all within the short space of little
more than twenty years .
And such is equally the object of the more
operose and complicated tragedy of modern
times, whether French or English ; whether
turning, as in the former case, upon a series of
artful and refined conversations, connected , in
deed , with interesting attractions, but carried on
with little action and vehemence, though with
much poeticalbeauty , and the strictest propriety
and decorum ; or whether, as in the latter in
stance, made to hinge on a combat of strong
passions, set before us in all their violence, pro
ducing deep disasters ; often irregularly con - .
ducted, abounding in action , and filling the
spectators with grief. It is, indeed, peculiarly
worthy of remark , that three of the greatest, if
not the three greatest master -pieces of the
French tragic theatre, turn wholly upon reli
gious subjects : the Athalie of Racine, the Poly
eucte of Corneille, and the Zaire of Voltaire.
The first is founded upon an historical passage
of the Old Testament ; while, in the other two,
the distress arises from the zeal and attachment
of the principal personages to theChristian faith .
So powerfully has each of these writers felt,
whatever may have been his private creed, the
majesty which may be derived from religious
 396 ON THE LANGUAGE

ideas, and the deep impression they are calcu

lated to produce on the human heart.
To select such topics, however, for such a pur
pose, demands a very delicate judgment ; and no
serious mind would readily consent, I appre
hend, that they should be resorted to and pro
mulgated as sources of entertainment in the
theatres of our own country . I mention the
fact with the mere view of contrasting it with
what has of late years been the predominant and
licentious taste of the French metropolis ; and
to show the readiness with which this polite and
elegant, but gay and giddy people, rush from
one extreme to the other of that sober medium
which will, I trust, ever limit and characterise
our own national feelings and conduct.*
It is well known to have been the opinion of
Dr. Johnson , that religious subjects are but little
calculated for poetry of any kind ; that the fire
of the Muses will not cordially blend with the
flame of devotion . From this opinion, however,
I must beg leave altogether to dissent.
There is no topic so well qualified for enkin
dling and enlisting into its service all the best
and purest passions of the heart; and none,
therefore, to which the language of the passions,
subject, indeed, to the discipline of a nice judy
ment, is better adapted, or can be more lauda
bly consecrated. And on turning accidentally to

* It should be recollected that this Lecture was composed

and delivered during the reign of Buonaparte.
 OF THE PASSIONS. 397
Sir William Jones's “ Essay on the Arts commonly
called Imitative," I find this opinion fortified ;
and the general survey of the subject now
offered supported by the authority of this great
scholar, whose name and judgment I may fairly
put into the scale against those of our cele
brated lexicographer .
“ It seems probable, that poetry was origi
nally no more than a strong and animated
expression of the human passions, of joy and
grief, love and hatred, admiration and anger,
sometimes pure and unmixed, sometimes va
riously modified and combined ; for, if we ob
serve the voice and accents of a person affect
ed by any of the violent passions, we shall
perceive a something in them very nearly ap
proaching to cadence and measure ; which is
remarkably the case in the language of a vehe
ment orator, whose talent is chiefly conversant
about praise or censure ; and we may collect
from several passages in Tully, that the fine
speakers of old Greece and Rome had a sort of
rhythm in their sentences , less regular, but not
less melodious than that of the poets.
- If this idea be just, one would suppose that
the most ancient sort of poetry consisted in
PRAISING THE DEITY : for if we conceive a being
created with all his faculties and senses, en
dued with speech and reason , to open his eyes in
a most delightful plain ; to view for the first
time the serenity of the sky, the splendour of
the sun, the verdure of the fields and woods, the
 398 ON THE LANGUAGE

glowing colours of the flowers ; we can hardly

believe it possible, that he should refrain from
bursting into an ecstasy of joy, and pouring his
praises to the Creator of those wonders, and the
Author of his happiness. This kind of poetry is
used in all nations ; but as it is the sublimest of
all, when it is applied to its true object, so it has
often been perverted to impious purposes by
pagans and idolaters .” *
It is true the devotional poetry of our own
country that can pretend to any high degree of
merit is but very sparing , when compared with
what we may reasonably boast on most other
subjects. Not, however, that we are without
writers of high and deserved reputation , or spe .
cimens of admirable excellence and sublimity .
Yet wemust not judge, as Dr. Johnson appears
to have done, from our own country alone : since
perhaps, no people celebrated for great refine
ment in taste and language, have so little culti
· vated this branch of the poetic art. It is a re
markable fact, that the metrical psalmody of our
established church, which ought to be the best,
is the worst of all English poetry in its old ver
sion , and not always improved as one could wish
in its new , though several of the psalms in this
later version are exquisitely turned .
And here it is obvious, that the fault does not
lie with the subject, for the original Hebrew

* Essay on the Arts commonly called Imitative Works,

iv . 550 . 4to.
 OF THE PASSIONS. 399

is full of excellencies of every kind. Our poets

of the highest reputation , whether epic, drama
tic, or lyric, have seldom ventured upon sacred
themes ; and in the few instances in which they
have made such an attempt, they have too fre
quently proved themselves to be equally unac
quainted with the style and character of devo
tion ; which, like those of every other science,
( for I am now only speaking of it in its subordi
nate and exterior attributes ) can only be ac
quired by a peculiar genius for the task , and a
long course of study in it. Let any one examine
critically the Universal Prayer of Pope, or
the Veni Creator Spiritus, or Te Deum , of Dry .
den , and I have little doubt that he will ac
cede to the correctness of this remark. There
is a constraint in these productions, which be
longs to the writers nowhere else ; an elegant
exterior, but without a vivifying spirit ; a total
want of that happy union of bosom ease and ar
dour, and raciness, which the French theologians
call unction , that prove a man to be at home upon
his subject, to have drunk deeply of the inspir
ing stream , and that it circulates freely through
his heart; that which renders Addison as
much superior to both these poets upon this
point as he was inferior to them upon every
other; which is deeply impressive in Cow
per's devotional pieces , which peculiarly cha
racterises, not only the more lofty and orna
mental, but even the mere doctrinal hymns of
Dr. Watts, which admit of but little embel
400 ON THE LANGUAGE

lishment ; and which we sometimes behold in

the congregational contributions of persons pos
sessing few pretensions to learning and genius,
and who, perhaps, make a boast of their defi
ciency .
Let it be remembered, that elegance alone
will not answer, nor will ease alone answer,
nor will general descriptions alone answer ; whe
ther of the perfections of the Deity , the beauty
of creation, the penitence of the soul, or its ar
dent longing for the happiness of heaven , or for
communion with God on earth . We have at
times seen attempts of this kind (and many of
us, as I trust, with real grief of heart) by lyrical
writers of the first attainments as poets, but the
lowest attainments as Christians, in our own day ;
and whose direct object has been to furnish
words to what has been vended along with them
under the name of SACRED MUSIC ; to cheat the
sacred hours of the Sunday, and of those who
hail the return of the Sunday, by a show of Sun
day -aliment and occupation. Such attempts
have had their day, but have never been able to

external glitter and polished rhapsody, they have

flatulent food, that the soul could never feed or

fatten upon. And, on analysing severalof these
attempts, with a friend of the nicest judgment,
and who was, at first, strangely captivated by
their pretensions, we found, that by a change in
a very few of the terms, chiefly, indeed, by a
 OF THE PASSIONS. 401

mere substitution of human names for divine,

they were reduced, with great advantage to
themselves , to their proper and natural level of
love-ditties and ballads, from which alone they
seemed to have been raised, by an irreverent
adoption of mere misnomers for the base pur
pose of finding them a market in what is called
the religious world .
On every account, however, I am much afraid
that we must yield the palm of devotional poe
try , to some of the nations on the continent.
The best French writers upon this subject are
Racine the younger, son of the celebrated dra
matist of the same name, John Baptiste Rous
seau , and Pompignan ; all contemporaries, and
the last of whom had the honour of being ridi
culed by Voltaire, Helvetius, and their associ
ates, for having had the boldness to deliver be
fore the French Academy, in 1760, a discourse
in favour of Christianity . And when to these
I add the name ofmy late venerable friend the
Abbé Dellille, I fear it will be difficult to mus
ter an equal group, possessing like power,
in our own country. Spain , however, in this
respect, 'at least rivals, if it do not surpass the
master-poets of France ; as I believe every one
must allow , who is acquainted with the sacred
poetry of Melendez, Miguel Sanchez; and the
Conde de Noroña. Germany has also a few
poets of the same kind of greatmerit, but it is
to Italy we must turn for the best specimens of
devotional lyrics in modern times ; - Italy,
VOL. III. DD
402 ON THE LANGUAGE

where, almost from the revival of literature, the

devotional muse, though surrounded by cor
ruption , has been courted and warmly caressed
by many of her best scholars, her best poets, and
her best men. Her sacred verse was at first,
indeed, too much interwoven with the mystic
sublimity of Platonism , which pervades more
especially the spirited and lofty verses of Lo
renzo de'Medici. It next allied itself equally with
classical mythology, generalizing the “ Jehovah,
Jove, or Lord,” as Mr. Pope has it, of Christians
and Heathens ; under which system every Pa
gan deity had his name continued, and was re
garded as nothing more than a separate attri
bute of the trueGod. Sanazzaro and Pontano,
like the Portugese epic poet Camoens, are full of
this absurd amalgamation ; but from the time of
Vida to the present day the devotional effusions
of the Tuscan muse have been purged from
foreign dross, and in subject as well as in style ,
while highly empassioned are equally pure,
pious, and erudite. Were I to be called upon
to point out the two best sacred poets ofmodern
times, I should instantly name Filicaja and
Klopstock ; both men of exemplary goodness,
whose lives were dedicated to religion , and
who, while they wrote from the heart, adorned
their compositions with every classical excel
lence. Bion has nothing sweeter or more
touching than Klopstock ; Pindar nothing more
ardent or sublime than Filicaja.
Yet, to determine the question fairly , whether
 OF THE PASSIONS. 403

religious subjects can afford a proper ground

for poetry, or the language of the passions, it is
necessary to look back to nations of a very re
mote antiquity , and who cultivated such at
tempts as a national pursuit. Surely if the er
roneous and extravagant mythologies and su
perstitions of ancient Greece possessed interest
enough to concentrate equally the fond atten
tion of the poets and the people, and to be laid
hold of as the standard theme of odes, dramas,
and epopees ; if the sacred fictions of Isis and
Osiris, of Ormuzd and Ahriman , of Brahma
and Pracriti, were deemed the noblest subjects
for song in Egypt, Persia, and Hindostan ; and
song, too, composed by the most learned hiero
phants and the most celebrated bards of their
day, in colleges expressly founded for the occa
sion ; what ought we not to look for in countries
of coeval antiquity , preternaturally illuminated
with the principles of genuine religion, and
where colleges also were founded of the same
mixed kind for the same lofty purpose ? What
ought we not to expect from the rapt patriarchs
of Idumæa, or the inspired prophets of Salem ;
from the magnificent schools of Dedan and
Theman, or those of Naioth and Mount Zion ?
From the two latter, more especially , since one
of their chief, and certainly one of their most
pleasing duties, was to compose a regular series
of sacred odes and other canticles to the praise
of the great Creator, and to sing them daily to
the skilful sound of psaltery, tabret, and harp ,
DD 2
404 ON THE LANGUAGE, & c.

in sweet, alternate concert ; and accompanied

with the symphoneous movements of solemn
attitudes and sacred dance. We have not time
for examples, pleasant as the task would be, to
introduce them ; but the question seems to be
unanswerably settled , by the general and well
known history of these countries, and the exqui
site specimens of their sacred lyrics which have
descended to our own day ; and which prove
unequivocally that the language of the passions,
of hope and fear, of joy and sorrow , of com
punction and triumph, are directly fitted to
become the language of devotion ; and that
the purest and sublimest religion is capable
of giving rise to the purest and sublimest poe
try. The Bible, indeed , which is the first book
we should prize, and the last we should part
with , is as much superior to all other books,
whether of ancient or modern times, in its figu
rative and attractive dress, as it is in its weighty
and oracular doctrines ; in the hopes it en
kindles and the fears it arrays. In its exterior
as in its interior, in its little as in its great, it
displays alike its divine original..
 105

LECTURE XV .
ONN TASO
TASTE, GENIUS, AND IMAGINATION
TION .
IMAG

BEFORE we close our analysis of the faculties of

the mind , there are yet three powers, that have
a larger claim upon our attention than we have
hitherto been able to give them . These are the
faculties of TASTE , GENIUS, and IMAGINATION ;
the alliance between which is so close, that
many philosophers have conceived they are pro
duced at the same moment, and cannot exist
separately. This , however, is an erroneous
opinion, proceeding from a want of clear ideas as
to their respective characters characters which
do not appear to have been at any time very
accurately defined ; and the peculiar limits and
distinctions of which I shall take leave, there
fore, before we close this course of instruction ,
to fix by a new boundary.
IMAGINATION, then, is that faculty of the mind
which calls forth and combines ideas with great
rapidity and vivacity, whether congruous or in --
congruous.
GENIUS is that faculty which calls forth and
combines ideas, with great rapidity and vivacity,
and with an intuitive perception of their con
gruity or incongruity.
. DD 3
406 ON TASTE , GENIUS,

Taste is that faculty which selects and re

lishes such combinations of ideas as produce
genuine beauty, and rejects the contrary.
These definitions are simple, but, I trust, cor
rect ; and if so, IMAGINATION is the basis of the
whole ; TASTE may exist without GENIUS, and
GENIUS without TASTE, as I shall presently en
GEN

deavour to show ; but neither can exist without

IMAGINATION . Yet imagination is neither taste
nor genius, since, though absolutely necessary to
the subsistence of these powers, the great mart
that furnishes them with their daily food, itmay
also exist without them .
Let us commence, then , with the faculty of
IMAGINATION. Whence comes it that the mind,
at first a tabula rasa, a sheet of white paper ,
without characters of any kind, becomes fur
nished with that vast store of ideas, thematerials
of wisdom and knowledge, which the busy and
boundless fancy of man has painted on it with
an almost endless variety ? The whole, as I had
occasion to prove in a preceding Lecture # , is
is derived from experience, - the experience of
sensation and reflection ; from what have been
called objective and subjective ideas ; from the
observations of the mind employed either about
external, sensible objects, or the internal oper
ations of itself, perceived and reflected upon by
its own faculties. .
Now , it is the office of the reason to hunt out
for and accumulate ideas from both the above
* Vol. III. Ser. III. Lect. III.
 AND IMAGINATION . 407
sources, as it is that of the perception to distin
guish them when present, and of the memory to
recall them on future occasions. And hence
he who has laid in the largest stock of ideas is
possessed, not indeed of the most extensive
knowledge, but of the most extensive materials
of knowledge. For, in order to produce know
ledge, we must not only have a numerous stock
of ideas, but these ideas must be examined ,
compared, arranged, combined, according to
their connection and agreement, or disconnec
tion and repugnancy . To do this is the office
of the JUDGMENT ; and hence he who has a
power of making such assortment and compa
rison with clearness and precision is said to have
a deep insight into things ; which is nothing more
than affirming that the faculty of his judgment
is correct and acute . I have stated genius to
be that faculty by which the mind rapidly or
intuitively perceives the congruity or incongruity
of ideas ; so that genius is intuitive judgment ;
it is judgment that looks forward at once from
the beginning to the end of a chain of ideas, and
stands in little or no need of the intermediate
links on which proper or common judgment de
pends for its guidance.
We often , however, meet with persons who
have a strong and active propensity to combine
ideas, without any attention to their natural
agreement or connection . And it is in indivi.
duals of this description that the imagination
constitutes the ruling power, and lords it over
D D 4
408 ON TASTE , GENIUS,

the judgment. Such combinations are soon

made, for they cost no trouble, like those the
judgment engages in : and as the personswho are
constitutionally prone to make them , possess,
perhaps without an exception, a sanguineous or
irritable temperament, the nature of which I
explained in a late lecture of the present series * ,
they are also made with peculiar liveliness and
rapidity, and I have hence defined the imagin
ation to be that faculty of the mind which calls
forth and combines ideas with great rapidity and
vivacity, whether congruous or incongruous.
· This, however, is pure or simple IMAGINATION ,
and to observe it in its full force wemust select
and attend to those states of the mind in which
it is altogether set at liberty from the control of
the judgment ; we must follow it up into the
airy visions of sleep, the wild phantasms of
delirium , the extravagant fictions ofmadness, or
the dark reveries of melancholy . In all these
states it has full play and revels with unbounded
career. And it shows us distinctly the error of
those psychologists who have regarded imagin
ation, genius, and fine taste, as one and the same
attribute. For here we behold the restless power
of imagination enthroned without a rival in the
centre of the intellectual empire, and yet unac
companied, except perhaps in a few anomalous
cases, with taste or genius of any kind. A long
habit of association, in the case of dreaming and
delirium , or some predominant feeling in the
case of madness or melancholy, may occasionally
* Vol. III. Ser. 111. Lect. xi.
 AND IMAGINATION . 409

give a certain degree of consistency or natural

colouring to the ideas as they are successively
embodied ; and I have hence described the ideas
of imagination as characterised by rapid and
vivacious combinations, whether congruous or
incongruous ; but for the most part the con
sistency is only occasional and momentary , or
if permanent, limited to a single subject.
Tried by this test, I am afraid Dr. Akenside,
among others, will be found to have fallen into
SOL
some slight confusion in his idea of imagination
or fancy ( for he uses the terms synonymously ) as
collected from his well-known and very admir
able poem - a poem in a few places, perhaps,
obscure to general readers from their inacquain
tance with the Platonic philosophers, but com
bining as much fire, and feeling, and classical
elegance, and rich imagery, and sweetness of
versification , as any didactic poem of the same
extent in the English tongue. This poem he
entitles, « The Pleasures of Imagination ;” and
the direct scope of it is to prove, firstly, that
the highest pleasures of the mind are those fur
nished by the imagination ; and , secondly , that
they are derived from the three sources of the
Fair, the Wonderful, and the Sublime, as they are
discoverable in the kingdoms of art and nature,
and are chiefly collected and represented to us
by poets and painters :
Know , then , whate 'er of nature's pregnant stores,
Whate ’er of mimic Art's reflected forms,
With love and admiration thus inflame
The powers of FANCY, her delighted sons
410 ON TASTE , GENIUS,
To three illustrious orders have referred ; -
Three sister-graces — whom the painter's hand,
The poet's tongue confesses: the Sublime,
The Wonderful, the Fair. - I see them dawn !
I see the radiant visions where they rise ,
More lovely than when Lucifer displays
His beaming forehead through the gates ofmorn,
To lead the train of Phæbus and the Spring.

Who does not see that, through the whole

of this the poet is speaking, not of fancy or
imagination in its proper and simple capacity,
but of fancy or imagination under the guidance
of taste and genius ; and that, consequently , he
confounds these three faculties, different as they
are from each other, under one common name.
In like manner Mr. Allison commences the
second edition of his “ Essays on the Nature
and Principles of Taste ," with the following
passage : “ The emotionsof sublimity and beauty
are uniformly ascribed, both in popular and phi
losophical language, to the imagination . The
fine arts are considered as the arts which are
addressed to the imagination , and the pleasures
they afford are described, by way of distinction ,
as the pleasures of the imagination .” Now this
may be popular language, but it is by no means
philosophical. The poet as a poet may talk of
the pleasures of imagination , because he limits
his ideas to pleasurable objects ; and submits
them to the selective hand of genius and taste ;
but will the madman, or even at all times the
lover, talk also of its pleasures ? Shakspeare tells
 AND IMAGINATION . 411

us, no; and in proof hereof gives us in his Mid

summer Night's Dream an exquisite picture of
the different subjects on which their respective
imaginations are exercised :

Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,

Such shaping phantasies that apprehend
More than cool reason ever comprehends.
The lunatic, the lover, and the poet,
ARE OF IMAGINATION ALL COMPACT.
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold ;
That is the madman . The lover, all as frantic,
Sees Helen 's beauty in a brow of Egypt.
The poet's eye in a fine phrenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth , from earth to heaven ,
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.

This indeed is the language of philosophy

though put into verse. The madman , the lover,
and the poet, are described as being joint sub
jects to the dominion of imagination ; while the
general current of their ideas, from its vehe.
mence, abruptness, and audacity , isdenominated
a phrenzy. But the phrenzy of the poet is dis
tinctly stated to be of a superior kind to that of
the rest and is distinguished by the epithet fine,
delicate, refined, polished ; and consequently
imports skill or regulation ; taste, genius, or both
together. It necessarily implies a something
besides the simple imagination , that uniteswith
and controls it ; and hence accurately accords
with the view of the subject now taken .
412 ON TASTE , GENIUS,

Let us proceed to the faculty ofGENIUS. This

SNIUS

I have defined to be that power of the mind

which calls forth and combines ideas with great
rapidity and vivacity , and with an intuitive per
ception of their congruity or incongruity.
Genius is, therefore, in few words, imagina.
tion with intuitive judgment. It distinguishes the
man of FINE PHRENZY, as Shakspeare expresses
it, from the man of MERE PHRENZY. It is a
sort of instantaneous insight, that gives us know
ledge without going to school for it. Sometimes
it is directed to one subject, sometimes to ano
ther ; but under whatever form it exhibits itself,
it enables the individual who possesses it to
make a wonderful and almost miraculous pro
gress in the line of his pursuit. Sometimes it
attaches itself to the sweet harmony of sounds,
and we then behold an infant of eight or ten
years of age evincing the science and execution
of an adult and finished musician . Sometimes.
it rejects the science of sounds and prefers that
of numbers ; and we behold a boy of twelve
years old solving, almost instantaneously, arith
metical questions which would cost an expert
practitioner in the common way a labour of
many hours . Sometimes we find it enamoured
of the beauty of colours or the charms of elo
quence ; and we are struck with the precocity
of perfection which it evinces in either case . . .
In other instances we see it descending to
the arts and labours of common life, and diffus
ing intuitive knowledge among themultitude.
 AND IMAGINATION . 413

Go to the busy 'Change ; and you will find some

individuals allowed by general consent to have
a peculiar genius, or talent, as it is often called ,
for commerce ; in other words, who are capable
of calling forth and combining commercial
ideas with great speed and vivacity , and with
that intuitive perception of their agreement
or disagreement which leads them to the most
judicious results - results, which the surround
ing crowd would only be able to attain by a
long catenation or process of enquiry . Go into
the country, and you will find the same differ
ence among our husbandmen and agriculturists ;
while some among them have no more imagin
ation than the clods they cleave with their plough
shares, others seem to penetrate intuitively the
nice order of vegetation, and never suffer a sea
son to roll over them without wringing from it
some important secret ; as Aristæus in the
Georgics from the pinioned form of old Pro
teus. Go to our manufacturing and mecha
nical towns; to Manchester, Birmingham and
Sheffield ; and you will, in like manner, meet
with artisans and handicrafts who discover the
same acuteness of intelligence, the same rapid
combination of consenting, ideas, the same su
periority of genius or talent in their respective
callings beyond that which is possessed by their
fellows, as in the cases to which I have alluded
already.
Genius, then , wherever it is found, and to
whatever purpose directed, is mental power ; it
 414 ON TASTE , GENIUS ,

acts by an invisible impulse, and appears to act

miraculously. And hence, indeed, its name
a name common to all the world - derived from
the Hebrew , copied thence into the Sancrit, Ara
bic, and Chinese; from the eastern tongues into the
Latin ,and from the Latin into our own, and almost
every other language ofmodern Europe, and im
porting in every instance, in its radical significa
tion , a tutelary , a guiding or inspiring divinity.
It is genius, then , that must control the ima
gination , if the pictures it paints be of any value,
if the ideas it combines be combined skilfully
or accordantly, if the feelings it excites be
pleasurable, or the result it produces be bene
ficial.
To give full efficacy, however, to the daring
· flights of the imagination , there is another power
of the mind which must associate with the at
tribute of genius, and that is TASTE ; which I
have already defined to be that mental faculty
which selects and relishes such combinations of
ideas as produce genuine beauty, and rejects the
contrary.
Imagination , therefore, is as necessary to the
existence of taste as of genius; since each equally
depends upon this active and vivacious power
for the materials with which it is to work. For
the most part, taste and genius are united in the
samemind, but not necessarily or always so ; and
hence they are by no means the same thing.
We see evident proofs of this in many of the
subjects selected by the lowest class of the
 AND IMAGINATION . 415

Dutch painters, and by several of the most emi

nent caricature draughtsmen of the present day ,
The broad laughter or other distortion of the
features, which they so frequently present to us,
often discovers a powerful genius in this parti
US
cular line, and , as displaying the effect of mus
cular action, may afford to the young painter a
useful study ; but the ideas are too ludicrous
and violent for real beauty, and have, hence, no
pretensions to pure taste.
Among the whims and follies which have suc
cessively risen into notice in our own country,
there appears at one time, among the lower ranks
of life, to have been an odd and singular fashion
for grinning. The third volume of the Spec
tator contains a paper that gives a very humour
ous account of this elegant rage ; and informs
us that grinning clubs were established in differ
ent parts of the country, grinning matches
proposed, and grinning prizes adjudged to the
winner. Among the competitors in this new
Olympic game, there were some who seem to
have been endowed with a peculiar genius for
the art ; and in one instance the prize fell upon
a cobbler , who discovered so much accomplish
ment and excited so much applause, that a
hạrd -hearted young woman , whom he had in
vain wooed for five years before, immediately
gave him her hand , and was married to him the
week following. Now here, as in the Dutch
paintings I have just noticed , whatever may
have been the genius displayed, every one , I ap
416 ON TASTE , GENIUS,

prehend, will admit that it was genius without

taste.
Let us, however, ascend to nobler regions. We
occasionally meet with particular instances of de
ficient taste in persons of the most elevated ge
nius, and whose general taste is acknowledged by
every one to be sufficiently correct. As one
instance, I may perhaps mention that Reubens
in his very excellent picture of Daniel in the
lions' den , has given a human expression to the
faces of the savage beasts. His intention is
clear ; it is that of representing them as endowed
with human feeling on the occasion . The con
ception unquestionably implies genius, but its
taste will not be so readily allowed . Wemeet
with a similar error in the battle of Constantine,
by Giulio Romano, where the face of one of the
horses is, for the same reason, animated with a
human character, expressive of doubtful thought
and suspicion ; while the ears and hair of the
forehead, for the sake of greater fierceness, are
drawn from the features of the bull. Now , in
centaurs, chimæras, and other ideal animals,
this intermixture of attributes is readily allow
able , for here the imagination may sport with
out restraint ; but it is a law of genuine taste,
that natural objects should have their natural
characters, their proper features and expression ;
or, in other words, that the principle of associ
ation adhered to by nature should be adhered to
by those who copy her.
Our best and most celebrated poets furnish
 AND IMAGINATION ..
AND IMAGINATION
417

us occasionally with similar instances of genius

unaccompanied by taste. Homer himself is not
altogether free from this imputation. Let me
first set before you one of his most exquisite pic
tures, in which taste and geniùs equally com
bine. The passage I refer to is his delineation ,
in the eighth book of the Iliad , of a night scene
before Troy . Mr. Pope's is an excellent version ,
but I take Mr. Cowper's, as equally excellent
and more true to the original :
As when , around the clear brightmoon, the stars
Shine in full splendour, and the winds are hush'd ,
The groves, the mountain -tops, the headland heights
Stand all apparent, not a vapour streaks
The boundless blue, but ether open 'd wide
All glitters, and the shepherd's heart is cheer'd :
So numerous seem 'd those fires, between the stream
Of Xanthus blazing, and the feet ofGreece,
In prospect all of Troy.
Could it be supposed, that he who could imagine
so finely, and describe so delicately , would in
the samepoem compare the contest of theGreeks
and Trojans for the body of Patroclus, which
it seems was tugged for in every direction , to a
gang of curriers stretching out a hide ? Or, that
in his Odyssey, he would liken Ulysses, restless
and tossing on his bed , to a hungry man turning
a piece of tripe on the coals for his supper ?
Now , in both these cases the similes are true
to nature, and strikingly illustrative ; they are
full of genius, but they are destitute of taste ;
they want picturesque beauty . To nature, in
VOL . III. E E
418 ON TASTE, GENIUS,

deed, they must be true ; for the merit of How

mér as a painter from nature is that in which he
stands most distinguished from all other poets. .
In variety , accuracy, and force, his similes great
ly surpass those of any of his successors and imi.
tators ; and they form a gallery of delineations
which the student of poetry and the cultivator
of genius cannot survey with too much atten
tion :

Be Homer's works your study and delight,

Read them by day, and meditate by night ;
Thence form your judgment, thence yourmaximsbring ,
And trace the muses upwards to their spring.*

In looking very lately over the satires of Dr.

Young, which , upon the whole, arewritten with
great force and truth of character, I could
scarcely avoid smiling at a simile which, like the
preceding, is exact enough in itself, but highly
Judicrous from its utter deficiency of taste. In
describing the man whose whole pursuits are
made up of nothing but trifling and empty joys,
he compares him to a cat in an air-pump. Now ,
this might have been well enough in Hudibras,
or any other burlesque poem ; but is altogether
inconsistent with a vein of serious composition .
In the following comparison, on the contrary,
he is highly ingenious and successful ; and we
admire the adroitness with which he brings into
various points of resemblance ideas that at first

* Art of Criticism .
 AND IMAGINATION . . 419

sight appear to be perfectly discrepant ; for

quicksilver and pleasure do not seem to have
any natural connection :

Pleasures are few , and fewer we enjoy ;

Pleasure, like quicksilver , is bright and coy ;
We strive to grasp it with our utmost skill,
Still it eludes us, and it glitters still.
If seiz'd at last, compute yourmighty gains,
What is it but rank poison in your veins ?

There is no subject that has been more fre

quently made choice of by dramatic writers
than the story of Edipus Tyrannus. We owe
it, in the first instance , to Sophocles ; and the
best copies of it in modern times are those by
Corneille and Voltaire. It is unquestionably
full of suspense, agitation, and terror; and par
ticularly of that incidentin a plot which by the
Greeks was termed anagnorisis, or the discovery
of a person to be different from what he was
taken to be. Yet, as a whole, there has always
appeared to me to be far more genius in the
conduct of the fable than there is of real taste
or beauty . The story is, in few words, as fol.
lows : — An innocent person, and, in the main ,
of a virtuous character, through no crime of him .
self or of others, but by mere fatality and blind
chance, is involved in the severest train of all
human miseries. In a casual rencounter he
kills his father without knowing him ; he after
W
wards, with equal ignorance, marries his own
mother ; and at length , discovering that he had
E E 2
420 ON TASTE, GENIUS,

committed both parricide and incest, he becomes

frantic and dies in the utmost misery . Such a
subject excites horror rather than pity. As con
ducted by Sophocles, it is, indeed, extremely af
fecting, but it conveys no instruction ; it awakens
in the mind no tender sympathy ; it leaves no
impression favourable to virtue or humanity .*
It is without the moral for which tragedy was
invented .
Genius, then , may exist without taste ; in like
manner, taste may exist without genius. Of
this we meet with a thousand instances every
day of our lives. How countless are the num
bers that are perpetually poring over the ele .
gant and picturesque poems of Lord Byron and
Mr. (now Sir ).Walter Scott ; or that are perpe
of the - Healing the Sick in the Temple ;" or
that of " Christ rejected ;" entering with the
nicest feelings into the various groupings, charac
ters and scenerywhich are so exquisitely presented
to them ; and who, nevertheless, though endowed
with a taste that enables them to relish such
excellencies, have no genius whatever that
could either invent or copy them . In like man .
ner, I have occasionally met with men , who for
strength of feeling and elegance of taste are
almost unrivalled, and whom theworld has long
regarded, and justly so , as among the finest
critics of the present day on subjects of polite

* See Blair's Lectures , vol. iii. sect. xlvi.

 AND IMAGINATION . 421

literature ; yet, notwithstanding such possession

of exquisite and acknowledged taste, who have
never been successful in the exercise of genius,
and have uniformly failed in poetry and original
fiction . It is rarely that taste and genius do not
co-exist in the samemind ; but it is also rarely,
that they co-exist in an equal degree. Ariosto
and Shakspeare excel in genius ; Tasso and
Racine in taste. Mr. Windham had as much
genius as Mr. Burke ; his imagination was as viva .
cious and rapid , his combination of congruous
ideas as instantaneous, his wit, perhaps, even
more ready and brilliant — but Mr. Burke was
vastly his superior on the score of taste.
· Taste and genius cannot but be favourable to
virtue. They cannot exist conjointly without
sensibility. While it is of the very essence of
vice to have its feelings blunted, its conscience
seared , their pleasures are notoriously derived
from elevated and virtuous sources. There
may, perhaps, be a few exceptions to the re
mark , but I am speaking of the general princi
ple. The lovely , the graceful, the elegant, the
novel, the wonderful, the sublime — these are
the food on which they banquet ; the grandeur
and magnificence of theheavens — the terrible
majesty of the tempestuous ocean -- the roman
tic wildness of forests, and precipices, and
mountains that lose themselves in the clouds -
the sweet tranquillity of a summer evening
the rural gaiety of vineyards, hop-grounds, and
corn - fields -- the cheerful hum of busy cities
E E 3
422 ON TASTE, GENIUS,

the stillness of village solitude -- the magic face

of human beauty — the tear of distressed inno
cence — the noble struggle of worth with po
verty , of patriotism with usurpation, of piety
with persecution ; - these, and innumerable
images like these - tender, touching, dignified
are the subjects for which they fondly hunt, the
themes on which they daily expatiate. To say
nothing of the higher banqueting, “ the food of
angels,” that religion sets before them .
It is true, that the mind thus constituted has
its pains as well as its pleasures, nor are its
pains few or of trifling magnitude. Wherever
misery is to be found it seeks for it with restless
assiduity, broods over it, and shares it ; and
where it is not to be found it fancies it. How
often, waking to the roar of the midnight tem
pest, while dull and gluttonous indolence snores
on in happy forgetfulness, does the imagination
of those who are thus divinely gifted mount the
dizzy chariot of the whirlwind , and picture evils
that have no real existence ; now , figuring to
herself some neat and thrifty cottage where vir
tüe delights to reside, she sees it swept away in
a moment by the torrent, and despoiled of the
little harvest just gathered in ; now , following
the lone traveller in some narrow and venturous
path -way, over the edge of Alpine precipicés,
where a single slip is instant destruction , she
tracks him alone by fitful flashes of lightning ;
and at length , struck by the flash , she beholds
him tumbling headlong from rock to rock, to
21
 AND IMAGINATION . 423

the bottom of the dread abyss, the victim of a

double death . Or possibly, she takes her stand
on the jutting foreland of some bold , terrific
coast, and eyes the foundering vessel straight
below ; she mixes with the spent and despairing
crew ; she dives into the cabin , and singles out,
perhaps, from the rest, some lovely maid , who,
in all the bloom of recovered beauty , is voyaging
back to her native land from the healing airs of
a foreign climate, in thought just bounding over
the scenes of her youth , or panting in the warm
embraces of a father 's arms :

She marks th ' erected ear, the bloodless cheek,

The rigid eye that never more shall weep ;
She hears the horrors of the last loud shriek ,
And sees the vessel plunge beneath the deep .

Such are the painful pictures on which the keen

soul of sensibility feeds too frequently in ima.
gination , when the sigh of real misery is hushed,
and its generous hand is not needed. But is
there nothing to counterbalance the distress ? To
call forth the tear of joy, as well as of sorrow ?
And to reward the nice sympathy with which
the mind labours ? I pursued this pleasing train
of contemplation , many years ago, in an elegy
expressly directed to the present subject, from
which , indeed , I have taken the lines just quoted ;
and as I do not know that I can answer this
important question in prose better than in
verse, I will beg leave to close the lecture, and
with it the general task I have undertaken ,
424 ON TASTE , GENIUS,

with an additional extract. Having pointed

out to those who are highly gifted with taste,
genius, imagination , and fine feeling , the pains
and anxieties , which such a constitution of
mind must necessarily give rise to, the : poem
proceeds as follows :

Yet murmur not, nor deem the fates reserve

No drop of solace mid the bitter stream ;
Virtue is yours, - and still each trembling nerve .
Oft proves an avenue to bliss supreme.

Ye cannot wade through filth that dulness dares ;

Your nobler spirits soar above the clod :
Ye must be pure, while yet your bosom bears
The clear, unsullied impress of your God.

Nor does the world , in every scene that springs,

Nor Fancy's self, pourtray perpetual gloom .
Feel ye no joy when sickness smiles and sings ?
When worth succeeds ? or culprits meet their doom ?

Lo ! where yon vale unfolds its pictur'd site, . .

And meads and corn -fields mix their gay attire ;
Sheep -cots and herds, and sprinkled cottage white ,
Stream , busy mill, deep wood, and tufted spire.

Can ermin ’d guilt, when every scheme succeeds,

Feel half the joy that stirs your generous breast,
As, pleas'd ye ponder o 'er these simple meads,
Compute their charms, and share their balmy rest ?

And mark , untouch 'd by city broils, the reign

: Of rural comfort, cheerfulness and ease ;
Of health , embloom 'd from every sweet-briar lane,
And faith and morals wholesome as the breeze.
 AND IMAGINATION . 425

Go - climb yon castled cliff thatmeets the sky,

And tells of times tradition cannot reach ;
And o 'er the ruins, as ye throw your eye ,
Of rocks and towers, with many a hoary breach ,

Say - does the wreck of nature and of art,

The wild cascade, and echo undefin 'd ,
The grandeur, and the solitude impart
No pleasing train of image to the mind ?

Or would ye change, for all that wealth can stake,

Ambition's plume, or lawless Pleasure's prime,
The feelings, then , that through the bosom wake,
And rouse the soul to ecstacies sublime ?

Yet these — and countless sympathies like these ,

Of purest zest, are yours, and yours alone :
Guilt knows them not, nor dull unwieldy Ease,
For Sensibility and Taste are one.

And well, thus gifted, may ye bear the thrill

Of social sorrows and ideal wrong ;

Must breathe, at times, a melancholy song ,

THE END .
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soonto 2000 S
titcoin